


Nice to Know My Kind

by Rysler



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Brexit, Excessive Wine, F/F, Fix-It, Lesbian Sex, Poetry, Porn With Plot, Psychopaths In Love, Road Trips, Sexually confused Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 40,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/pseuds/Rysler
Summary: The scene at the Ruins ends differently, sending Eve and Villanelle on a road trip to save the world.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 92
Kudos: 536





	1. Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> This was my 2019 NaNoWriMo, and is thus finished. Chapters will be posted every few days.
> 
> This takes place mostly in the British Isles but it is written in American. I’m sorry.

_ Do you remember me? _

_ I killed your family _

_ And now I’m going to kill you too _

_ I made your brother bleed _

_ I made your father scream _

_ And I made your mother say those things she said to me. _

  * Andrew Jackson Jihad

  
  
  


“What do you want for dinner?” Villanelle asked.

Eve was breathless from the exertion and joy of tearing down the doorway. She’d just watched Aaron Peel get murdered, and then murdered someone herself, gory and wet and harder and easier than she’d ever thought it would be, and they had run, and run. And Villanelle was asking about dinner. 

Her stomach recoiled.

“Dinner?” Eve asked. Mesmerized by the ruins, the sound of birds, the glint of sunlight off the pools of water, beautiful outside of her, ugly inside of her, she gave the first answer that came to mind. 

Keep Villanelle calm. Entertain her.

“Spaghetti?” she offered. When was the last time she’d had spaghetti? Since she was a child? 

“Good idea,” Villanelle said. She sounded as out of breath as Eve, all kinetic energy and bloodsport, and she kept rambling, mimicking out loud the chaotic jumble of Eve’s thoughts. Villanelle asked, “I was thinking we should go to Alaska. Have you seen pictures? It’s so amazing.”

Eve’s data-driven brain ran through it’s internal Wikipedia of Alaska. She’d seen cruise brochures of glaciers and sled dogs. _Cold. Remote. That boy had died there in a school bus. _The constant proximity of death made Eve shudder.

Villanelle continued. “We could get a cabin. Nobody would bother us there.”

Eve tried to focus. No one would bother them for… sex? For safety? Until Villanelle got bored with her, or Eve said the wrong thing, and ended up strangled to death like all of the rest. Or maybe she would be driven to kill herself like Anna. Clarity was coming to her. Jagged, broken glass clarity. 

_ Villanelle was dangerous_.

“We’d be normal,” Villanelle said, as if to counter her thoughts. “And I have money, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Eve did worry about that. She was jobless and homeless, and that put her at Villanelle’s mercy. “Okay,” she mumbled, still watching the light on the water.

Villanelle took her hand. “You’ll feel better soon. I’ll look after you.”

The tenderness of Villanelle’s touch did not change the fact that she was a bomb Eve was unable to diffuse. That she had killed Aaron Peel right in front of her. _For her._ She’d killed Bill Pargrave right in front of her. 

Just as the nearness was making Eve shudder, Villanelle darted away, a fae among the ruins. 

Eve had only said “Spaghetti” and “Okay” and if she didn’t find her voice soon, she’d be lost entirely to Villanelle. She’d give in. That meant death. 

Her phone buzzed against her hip. She fished it from her pocket automatically. Too many years at MI-5. Carolyn’s name appeared on the screen. 

Glancing at Villanelle, Eve answered it. “This is not a good time, Carolyn.”

“Oh good, you’re still alive.” Carolyn’s smooth voice held no suggestion of concern, only prudence. 

Eve shut her eyes, and then quickly opened them again, as to not lose track of Villanelle.

“For the moment,” Eve answered. “Is Hugo?”

“Of course. Is Villanelle with you?”

“Yes. Carolyn. I thought we were done.”

“Yes, I know I said that to you a mere two hours ago--”

Had they been underground for two hours? Eve coughed, suddenly choking on imagined dust. 

“--but circumstances have changed.”

Villanelle finally noticed Eve was on the phone and slunk back over, looking both inquisitive and annoyed. 

“It’s Carolyn,” Eve mouthed.

Villanelle stopped looking annoyed. She raised her eyebrows.

Carolyn said, “There’s been an assassination. An hour ago. Darren O’Sullivan.” 

Eve went through the file system in her mind again, with difficulty as Villanelle leaned over her, peering at the phone, close enough for Eve to smell sweat and blood. 

“The deputy minister working on Brexit for Ireland?” Eve guessed.

“Yes. We need you back here. The Troubles we all thought might come are starting. I think it’s the Twelve. My colleagues aren’t so sure. And Villanelle is needed to--to be a counter-balance.”

“I didn’t kill Darren O’Sullivan,” Villanelle whispered, in an offensive, faux-Irish accent. 

Eve rolled her eyes at Villanelle. Then said, “I’m a little busy, Carolyn. Brexit isn’t exactly my forte.”

Carolyn sighed, and there was a shuffling sound, and then Kenny’s voice, far away, patched through from London.

“Please, Eve,” he said. The line hissed. 

Eve scrunched up her face. “Kenny--”

“Look, I know it’s not your country, or anything, but you could help save… us. Me. Come on, Eve.”

“Fine.” Eve scowled. Only the boy had the power to break her heart like that. And she owed him so much. Too much. 

Villanelle wrinkled her nose.

Carolyn spoke up. “We don’t have time to make new passports in Rome, and you both are targets for assassins. Drive to Calais and we’ll get you across from there.”

“Aren’t you still in Rome? Can’t you just…”

“Send a limo,” Villanelle said to the phone.

“Things are complicated here, Eve. Just get to Calais.”

“Am I going to be paid for this?” Eve tried to ignore Villanelle’s hand suddenly brushing her ribs, caressing and then settling, so that Villanelle could stand closer, hearing more of the phone call.

“Of course. But there’s something I need to tell you. A police report we intercepted. A girl named Gemma, a friend of Niko’s?”

“Yes.” A sour feeling filled Eve’s stomach.

“Villanelle murdered her.”

Villanelle immediately stepped back, all apologetic smiles.

“I’ll see you in Calais,” Eve said, and then ended the call. She pressed her phone against her forehead and closed her eyes.

“I did it for you, Eve.” Villanelle’s voice sounded far away. “Because Niko loves you, not her. I mean, he really loves you.”

Eve shuddered. Villanelle had her completely ensnared. Eve saw the certainty and totality of death, looming in its carriage, and there was nothing she could do.

“Eve,” Villanelle pleaded.

Eve put on her coldest mask, and opened her eyes to Villanelle’s matching gaze. “We need to buy a car.” 

Her skin itched, as if covered in spiderwebs. 

***

They made their way back to modern civilization, first going to a drop site where Villanelle picked up a staggering 50,000 euro. Then to the nearest used car dealership. Eve thought a Toyota or Mercedes for 5,000 would be fine, but Villanelle insisted on paying twice as much for a Jeep. 

The black SUV looked governmental and foreboding.

“We’re going over the mountains,” Villanelle said. “And we might have to haul things.”

_ Like bodies? _ “We’re going straight to Calais. This isn’t the Oregon Trail.”

Villanelle wrinkled her nose. “Either this or the Alfa Romeo for half my cash.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Fine.” 

She was still unsettled, and rather afraid of going on a road trip with Villanelle. The ostentatiousness of the vehicle seemed from Villanelle’s world full of spies and assassins. Eve didn’t know her place in it. But she could now look at Villanelle without seeing the spectre of death, without her heart racing in panic, without starting at every shadow Villanelle cast. The car lot was just a car lot. Villanelle could almost be a pretty girl in the Italian sunlight.

“What’s next?” Villanelle asked politely.

“Shower.”

“Yes,” Villanelle agreed. “And new clothes.”

Eve looked down at herself. “What’s—“

“Eve, you are Asian, which stands out here just a little bit, and clearly not a tourist. You are traveling practically alone. You are conspicious. You need a hoodie.”

Eve shrugged. Clothes were clothes. She’d been wearing a maid’s outfit earlier in the day. Was it still the same day? She’d saved Villanelle’s life at breakfast.

“It can be chic.” 

“Oh, who cares?” Eve said.

Villanelle’s jaw dropped.

They bought clothes and checked into a hotel, all cash, and showered and changed. Eve dodged Villanelle’s attempts to flirt with her or to get into the shower with her, but she couldn’t deny seeing Villanelle’s naked body. Lithe, toned, far more muscle than Eve had pictured when she’d entertained unwanted thoughts.

Villanelle had seen her, so it was only fair.

Eve knew she was being childish. Tit for tat wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She settled into the Jeep’s passenger seat, a quiet grouch, and let Villanelle point the Jeep northwest as the afternoon settled into the sky. She wondered if Villanelle had a license or any identification on her—probably not, where would it be? 

She was a murder in a car alone with another murderer, and she’d seen _Thelma and Louise_. So and therefore. Once she made up her mind that she was on her way to die, little else mattered. Even the chicness of the American Eagle hoodie she wore over way-too-tapered jeans did nothing to cheer her. Since she was in Europe, a fun scarf was delicately wrapped around her neck. Villanelle’s delicate work.

“A better scarf. Do you remember?” Villanelle asked.

She did. As Villanelle drove, Eve studied the blisters on her hands. The axe had been heavy. Hard to swing, and harder to push into the wet meat of a human being. But she had done it, and in doing so, had transported herself into another world. 

Maybe an afterlife.


	2. The Apennines

_She's a girl dressed in black from another world_

_Lives and breathes like a girl from another world..._

_Celebrate, medicate 'til we numb the pain_

_In the sun, it's still dark, like it always rains_

  * Blink 182

Eve stayed silent until Florence, and then it was just to say _No _to Villanelle.

“But pizza! Fashion!”

“No.”

Villanelle pouted.

“Carolyn sounded serious on the phone,” Eve said. 

“And she’s the big boss,” Villanelle mocked in an oafish voice that reminded Eve more of Konstantin. 

“She’s keeping us alive. Both of us.” Eve, in her little scarf, could still not contemplate the outside world around them. Italy was an alien planet and she had not studied the guidebook.

Villanelle exhaled. “And she’s fucking Konstantin, probably.”

“I think so,” Eve said.

They drove through Florence. Eve said no to the gas station and the restaurants and the museums.

The terrain got more mountainous. They climbed. Eve was glad for the Jeep. She was even glad that she wasn’t driving, since she barely knew how, and Villanelle drove with the confidence she used for all tasks.

“How do you feel about Konstantin?” Eve asked, facing Villanelle.

Villanelle mused. Then glanced at Eve. “Do you mean, do I love him?”

“Bingo,” Eve said.

“No. I do not love him. I am not...attached to him. I am not even fond of him. There is nothing.”

Eve nodded slowly, focused entirely on Villanelle’s face. Scenery was a blur behind it, as if they were driving in a movie. 

“But, Eve, I know what love is. I will tell you later, maybe. One day. And Konstantin makes my life better. He is enjoyable. He is… a part of who I am. Who I am made to be. And I need him. And I need him to be okay. Alive. Even when I want to kill him, or am told to.”

Eve nodded.

Villanelle spared another glance at her. “Is that okay?”

“Villanelle, you don’t have to… behave in a certain way. Be acceptable. Win me over. Just be yourself.”

“I do not think that is true,” Villanelle said.

“It should be. Don’t… Just don’t lie, okay?” Eve rubbed her forehead. Asking a psychopath not to lie was like asking the ocean not to be wet. 

Villanelle mulled. “You either, then.”

Eve swallowed. “Deal.”

They rose through the Apennines. Dusk had passed into darkness. There was little traffic on the road. Only trucks rumbling through. Most people were probably too smart to drive in the mountains at night, Eve decided. _The Sound of Music_ came to mind. Those mountains were hundreds of miles away in another country. And much higher. 

Eve bit her lip. She couldn’t see beyond the headlights. She focused on her phone, instead, downloading data that Kenny sent her on Darren O’Sullivan. 

Villanelle screamed.

Eve looked up as Villanelle took her hands off the wheel. Villanelle laughed, loud and terrifying. Manic. 

The car listed to the left. 

Toward the cliff? Eve squinted into the dark. “Villanelle! What the fuck?”

Villanelle settled. “What, Eve?” She grinned wide. The car continued its trajectory.

The headlights illuminated a guard rail and a sign for a dangerous curve toward the right.

Eve grabbed the wheel, afraid to over-correct and spin them around and off the cliff. She eased the wheel to the left. “Take your foot off the gas!”

“No, I think you can do this,” Villanelle said.

“Physics!” Eve pulled the wheel. The car screeched, and Villanelle threw the emergency brake, spinning them along the hairpin turn.

Villanelle eased off the gas until they were stopped in the middle of the road. She laughed again. “Oh my God, I almost pissed myself. That was extraordinary.”

Eve was entirely freaked out. Adrenaline coursed through her. Her stomach ached, but she felt wide awake and stunned and utterly weightless. “Why—“ she breathed.

“My life is in your hands, Eve,” Villanelle said.

Eve forced herself to swallow. She faced Villanelle. Her hands shook as she clutched the dashboard and her seat. “You can’t trust me with your life.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still what I decided.” Villanelle glanced shyly at her, and then back at the road.

Everything outside the window was still.

Eve inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. She sank down into her seat. The fear that had surged through her had started at her chest but ended between her legs, and settled there as energy.

“How do you feel?” Villanelle asked.

“How do _you _feel?”

“You know that I feel nothing.”

Eve took a few more deep breaths. Then she covered Villanelle’s hand with hers. “Just drive. We’ll stop in the next town. It’s dark.”

“The mountains are full of monsters,” Villanelle said. A grin touched her lips.

“Just us monsters,” Eve said.

Villanelle clicked her tongue.

Eve settled as Villanelle began to drive again. Eve wasn’t angry. She wasn’t outraged. She was...charged. Kinetic. She petted Villanelle’s shoulder as she drove, craving contact with another human being after the threat of the void. She caressed Villanelle’s elbow. Then rested her hand on Villanelle’s thigh.

“Don’t do that again,” Eve said. “Please.”

Villanelle grinned. Toothy. 

“Promise me,” Eve said.

“Never.”

But Eve left her hand on Villanelle’s thigh anyway, and relaxed even further when the lights of a town shone on the road. They were at the top of the world. 

Villanelle pulled into a gas station. “Do you want snacks, Eve? I do not know if the hotel will have anything.”

Eve hadn’t eaten all day. She had interrupted Villanelle’s breakfast with Aaron Peel. Then had watched his blood drain from his body. Then had run miles through Rome. 

“Protein bars, water, nuts, fruit?”

“How boring,” Villanelle said. She exited the car.

Eve leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her heart still raced.

She wasn’t dead yet.

***

The hotel was a chic, modern mountain inn, with wifi and free breakfast, though it was on another somewhat treacherous mountain road. By the time they got their room key, Eve was dead tired. She didn’t care that there was only one bed. It looked clean and inviting. She flopped down face first on it.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep,” she said to Villanelle.

“Where would be the fun in that?”

Eve tilted her head. Villanelle had sat at a small desk and was opening up the plastic shell of a new burner phone. She plugged it in to charge. 

“Do you think no one will find us here?” Eve asked.

“I think paying 500 extra to the girl at the desk is not going to keep us safe from a hit squad. She will not risk her life for us.”

Eve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You are a terrible spy, Eve.”

“It’s only my second mission.”

Villanelle snorted. There were rustling sounds, and then bathroom sounds, and then Villanelle bounced on the bed, making it shake. “We need to set up a watch.”

“No,” Eve said.

“Your funeral.”

Eve grunted, and asked, “How do you do this every day? Live in fear? On the edge? I feel like I want to drown in anxiety medicine.”

“It’s exhilarating,” Villanelle said. “Better than the alternative.”

“Not really.”

Villanelle settled her hand onto Eve’s back. Pressed firmly through the hoodie. “Where else would you rather be right now?”

Eve sighed. She wanted to reject Villanelle’s touch. She wanted to hate Villanelle’s touch. But energy, a low throb of electrocution, moved between them. Villanelle was actually comforting. 

Eve had caught the maddening thing she chased, and she felt okay. Better than okay.

“Do you want to be normal again?” Villanelle asked, her hand rubbing slow circles.

“No.” Eve rolled onto her side, making Villanelle’s hand slip to her hip. “And I don’t want to go to Alaska.”

Villanelle grinned. Her fingers twitched, but as she leaned in, she didn’t reach for Eve’s face, Eve’s hair. That had never ended well. So it was balance and flexibility that lowered her mouth to Eve’s, for a solid, pressing kiss. Her hands stayed free. In case she had to flee. 

Eve rolled onto her back. Showing her neck. An animal surrendering. 

Villanelle crouched over her and kissed her again. Heat and energy surged through Eve, waking her up from her body’s fatigue. She cupped the back of Villanelle’s neck and pressed their lips together. She trembled, and resented it. She turned her head to the side, breaking the kiss.

“Eve,” Villanelle breathed. 

“Let’s just go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Villanelle moved off the bed and took off her clothes. She yanked back the blankets, displacing Eve momentarily. 

Eve got up and went to the bathroom.

“You are the big spoon,” Villanelle said.

Eve ran the water to brush her teeth. “I am not spooning you.”

Villanelle scoffed.

By the time Eve returned, in a cotton shirt and yoga pants she’d bought for sleeping, Villanelle was asleep. Eve crept around to the far side of the bed and got in, leaning on her side, considering Villanelle’s bare back.

She reached for Villanelle’s shoulder, stroking the backs of her fingers along the skin.

Villanelle squirmed, but didn’t fully wake up. 

“Goodnight,” Eve said.

Eve felt far away from her life. Far away from her morality, her intelligence, her strength. But close to Villanelle. She dropped her hand and closed her eyes.


	3. Lyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konstantin provides a side quest.

“We’re stopping in Bologna for lunch,” Villanelle said around a mouthful of pastry. They were in the bed and breakfast dining room, which had eight tables and a rather dismal buffet. 

“Okay,” Eve said. She drank more of her Americano. 

“And maybe we can find an internet cafe and check in with our people.”

“Konstantin?”

“I miss him,” Villanelle said. “He is usually...around. This is an unusual situation.”

“Mm.”

Villanelle’s gaze darted around, taking in the dining room they were in, studying every patron. 

Eve sensed that Villanelle was going to do something outlandish, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. For once, she didn’t even try. Didn’t cajole. Didn’t plead. Just watched Villanelle’s explosive energy seek a target. She tried to guess what Villanelle might do. 

Villanelle’s intense look settled onto Eve. “You’re looking crafty.”

“Making bets with myself whether you’re going to set something on fire or contaminate the panini press with perfume.”

Villanelle took another huge bite of pastry. 

Eve sipped her coffee.

“I am not a pyromaniac,” Villanelle said. “Do you speak Italian?”

“No.” Eve had taken Spanish throughout most of school, imagining her country’s bilingual future, which had been no help to her in London. She’d never set foot in Spain. For someone who lived abroad and worked for an intelligence agency, she’d hardly gone anywhere. 

Villanelle’s grin widened. “Then you will have no idea what I’m about to do.”

Eve briefly closed her eyes. She set her coffee cup down. When she looked at Villanelle again, there was a rapturous, sparkling expression on Villanelle’s face.

“Are you doing this to impress me?” Eve asked.

“Of course not. I am purely entertaining myself. Your entertainment is up to you.”

Eve’s cheek twitched. She pressed her lips to prevent a smile.

Villanelle saw it. “Aha. Maybe I do not even need the Italian.”

A busboy came and took their plates. He left unmolested. Villanelle brushed powdered sugar off her fingers. She leaned in conspiratorially to Eve. “That man in the very expensive ski suit has toilet paper hanging from his shoe. That is enough.”

Eve looked over her shoulder, and allowed herself to laugh. She glanced back ato Villanelle. “Do you ever use your powers for good?”

Villanelle’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know.”

“I just meant--”

Villanelle got up. “Let’s go to _Calais_,” she said.

Eve followed her as she walked out the door. “Bologna,” she reminded Villanelle.

Villanelle’s posture softened a bit. 

Eve opened the car door. A long descent off the mountain awaited her, and she was not looking forward to it. When she sat down and buckled her seatbelt, she pulled out her phone and typed in, “Wine Bologna” and said a little prayer. 

***

Bologna was quintessentially Italian, red-roofed and sprawling and ancient. They lunched in the columned courtyard of a large, touristy cafe. They each got the prix fixe and their own bottle of wine. Villanelle had the lambrusco and would not shut up about the local production of the fizzy-but-not-quite-sparkling liquid. Eve, after a car-ride of Googling, chose the pignoletto, ignoring the dirty looks from the waiter who thought both their choices ridiculous for charcuterie. 

And way too early in the day to be drinking. 

Eve was parched.

Villanelle had gathered up the _Evening Standard_ and _The Guardian_, along with several Italian newspapers, and spread them everywhere, getting olive oil on them. 

“We have Kenny, why do we need newspapers?”

“To see the public’s reaction,” Villanelle said. “What’s exposed to the world now? What’s hidden? What are people angry about? We are detectives.”

“What _are_ people angry about?” Eve could only read the main headlines.

Villanelle perused, dragging her finger down Italian words. “Northern Ireland is angry that Ireland exists.”

“What else is new.” Eve sighed and drank more wine.

“There’s a runway show in Paris next week. Leonardo diCaprio will be there.”

“Will he be wearing the latest fashionable gown?” Eve asked.

“If he was, we would be going, absolutely.” 

“Is anyone else going to get murdered before we get to Dublin? This trip is taking longer than I thought,” Eve said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Villanelle said, musing. “Assassins are very expensive, they wouldn’t want to risk theirs now that everyone’s excited. So if it’s the Twelve, we get a reprieve. If not…” Villanelle squinted at her, as if testing her. “If it is amateurs and not pros…”

Eve took a long sip of her wine before answering. “A soft target.” 

“Yes. It would be unfortunate if we were dealing with real terrorists. Or real assholes.”

“Given it’s Brexit, maybe Russians?” Eve felt guilty saying that to Villanelle, even though Villanelle seemed to have cast off her mother country.

“Maybe. But it’s not their style. This is very hands on. And yet, does not involve polonium.”

“There are too many people invested in this,” Eve said.

“It’s ironic that we have to deal with it and we did not even get a vote,” Villanelle said.

“You literally live in Paris.”

“It’s the principle.”

Eve wrinkled her nose.

Villanelle began folding the newspapers. “What’s the next stop?”

“I’m suggesting Lyon. We should avoid Switzerland. They’re efficient.”

“I agree,” Villanelle said. “Then tomorrow night, we will be at the Chunnel.” 

Eve nodded. She looked at her almost-empty bottle of wine. “I shouldn’t take it with me, right?”

“Eve, you are a lush.” Villanelle covered Eve’s hand with hers. “I am not going to let you drive.”

“I haven’t driven anywhere in fifteen years.”

“That, also.”

They shared a smile. 

On the way to Lyon, Eve sent multiple search parameters to Kenny regarding people, locations, CCTV, and even traffic. He sent her a refresher on the top five assassins operating in the United Kingdom from her own computer.

She read until she got car sick, and downed some Dramamine while Villanelle blasted Turkish pop music over the satellite radio. Lunch had settled contentedly into her stomach. It was the nicest day she’d had in months.

Ever since that night when four people were murdered in a hospital room.

***

The French countryside rolled by as Villanelle dialed her burner phone with one hand. 

Eve didn’t hear anything but the click of the call connecting, and Villanelle spoke first. “I’m just checking in, boss.”

A chuckle. “Hello, Villanelle. I have been waiting.”

“Don’t you know better than to answer an unknown number?”

“That is what I do for a living. And I have a job for you. You’ll be getting to Lyon in a couple hours?”

Eve’s eyes widened. “What the fuck?”

Villanelle didn’t react. “Yes. Is it for Carolyn?”

“No, a private hire.”

“Konstantin, you know I hate those. They are so tawdry.”

Eve thought of the sex club and the man bleeding out upside down like a freakish performance art piece. 

“It’s 80,000 euros that you can pick up on your way to London.”

“What is your cut?”

Konstantin coughed. “Well. This is a favor for an old friend.”

“God. Is it going to be hard?” Villanelle asked.

“It is not going to be easy. If I send you a link, can you open it?”

“Yes, Eve has a fancy phone.”

“No,” Eve mouthed. She shook her head. 

“Text me her number,” Konstantin said. “I’m glad you’re still alive, Villanelle.”

“People keep saying that,” Villanelle said. “It’s weird.”

“_Ciao_,” Konstantin said.

Villanelle turned off the phone, and, thankfully, gripped the steering wheel with both hands. 

“I’m not going to open some strange assassin link on my phone,” Eve said. “How did he know we were in Lyon?”

“Maybe Carolyn told him and he Mapquested,” Villanelle said. “He always knows where to show up. Always. He is good at spying. Unlike you. When you get the link, please start reading it to me, okay? Eve?”

“I’m not going to help you kill somebody.” _Again_.

“Who invited you? I just need the target.” 

Eve sighed. She looked out the window again. France, passing by innocently, ignorant of the tick clinging to its road. 

“Did you think I would not kill anyone on our little road trip?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” Eve said. She had...relaxed...as the trip had gone along. Had forgotten the excitement and terror of Aaron Peel and safewords and hairpins.

“Your government made me kill Aaron,” Villanelle said.

“I know. Christ, would you shut up for five minutes? Let me think.”

Villanelle turned up the stereo as loud as it would go, and Eve swore she could still hear Villanelle’s huffs of indignation.

“I’m not special,” Eve said. She didn’t even hear her own words. 

Her phone vibrated. It gave her a choice. Help Villanelle on her mission, or… or what? Jump out of the car now? Walk to London, jobless, hopeless, hunted? Was a choice under that kind of pressure a real choice?

Eve unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted to take in Villanelle’s profile. Villanelle glanced at her, and then away again.

Did loving Villanelle mean loving this, too? How long had she refused to articulate that? To pretend that Villanelle was normal, or that she was normal. Or that this bloodlust wasn’t itself normal.

She reached over and turned down the radio. She clicked the link on her phone.

A picture and text came up. Thankfully in English. 

“Is he Russian?” Villanelle asked, purely inquisitive, as if she weren’t pissed off at Eve and Konstantin. 

“Yup.”

Villanelle nodded. “I like killing Russians.”

Eve pursed her lips. She scrolled through the information once, and then went back to the top, and began to read out loud. 

***

They stopped the car in a warehouse district. It was bustling with workers who glanced at them and then lost interest. Four big buildings on one block, and then similar blocks in every direction. They had stopped to buy plastic garbage bags and duct tape. 

Villanelle still had her gun with its five bullets. Eve had yelled at her about it, but no longer felt guilty about killing Raymond. Not when Villanelle’s life was in danger yet again, and the fear came back to Eve, palpable and damp.

“Uh, be careful,” Eve said. 

Villanelle had changed into jeans and a hoodie, and put her hair under a beanie. It didn’t stop her from looking beautiful, but she blended in better.

“Don’t worry, Eve,” Villanelle said, squeezing her arm. “You’ll drive me away from here.”

“I can’t drive.”

“Oh, right. Well, keep the motor running, baby.” Villanelle gave Eve a big wink.

Eve sagged against the car. “Shit, this is a terrible idea.”

Villanelle sauntered toward her target; a work trailer two blocks away. Close quarters, lots of cameras. No places to hide. Probably everyone she encountered would be armed.

Eve tried to read more about O’Sullivan, but her eyes blurred. Her head ached. She hit the side of the car. Her hand hurt. _Goddamnit_.

Not for the first time, she thought about calling Niko. Finding out if he was okay. Telling him that she was _not_ okay. Talking about Villanelle, who they had common now. 

She could text him. “Sorry, baby.”

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered.

Leaving the car running, she got back in the passenger seat, and plotted several routes to get out of the warehouse district and back onto one of two highways that would get them out of Lyon. She wondered how many escape routes were practical versus how many she could remember. 

She opened the notes field and jotted down the question. Maybe Carolyn would know. Or Konstantin. 

Everyone was right. She was a really shitty spy.

She’d bought an axe and a baseball bat at the hardware store they’d stopped at. She could swing them both. A gun would have been better.

She listened for gunshots, trying to be alert. Hyperaware. She attempted meditation. 

She played Freecell after downloading it, and wondered if it was going to start tracking her.

Villanelle knocked on the window of the passenger door.

“Ack!” Eve dropped her phone. 

So much for being hyper-aware.

Laughing, Villanelle walked around and got in the driver’s seat, tossing a black trash bag with something heavy inside of it into the back seat.

“Where to?” Villanelle asked.

“Go around the block, taking the first left, and then around until we’re going the other direction.”

“Why not make a U-turn?”

“It’ll confuse the cameras and shield our intentions, in case anyone’s wondering why the fuck we’re making a U-turn after you… you have blood on you.”

Eve touched Villanelle’s jaw, where there was a cut, just below her cheek. It might have gone to the bone. “Jesus.”

“I am fine.” Villanelle swatted Eve’s hand away.

“You’re not fine.”

Villanelle had bloody knuckles, and her hoodie had a rip in it. 

“What happened?”

“I had to beat them up. It wasn’t easy. Eve, this happens. It is _normal_.”

Eve studied her, aching to touch her, to comfort her. Two days and Villanelle had been in two rough scrapes. Not counting Aaron Peel’s nasty plans. Eve had seen her as larger than life. Almost immortal.

Here Villanelle was, just a girl sitting in a car with Eve, trying not to wince whenever she moved her fingers.

Eve shook her head. “What’s in the bag?”

“The head.”

“The head?” Eve covered her mouth, willing herself not to inhale. Or hurl.

“Proof the deed is done. When we’re at a safe place, we can GPS the pick-up. I think it is in a laundromat?”

“Dry-cleaners,” Eve said.

“Okay. We get the money, we buy a new car, we drive to the next city. Easy-peasy.”

“What if—“

“Don’t ‘what if.’ You’ll become paralyzed.”

“Okay.” Eve allowed herself a deep breath. She didn’t smell death and relaxed. “Smart.”

Villanelle smiled a little. “I am good at this.”

Eve could tell she was in pain.


	4. Macon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Eve was getting better at handling stress. She let Villanelle handle the head-for-cash exchange without freaking out, and compromised with Villanelle on a cute little Peugot now that the worst of the mountains were behind them. 

They drove toward Macon. 

Eve contemplated the insight she had into Villanelle’s life, having spent more than a couple of hours with her since the long drive into the forest. That felt like ages ago. Bad guys ago. After the thrill of the kill, there was money, but there was tedium. A heart racing while the car traveled at a sedate 60kph. Injuries that provoked annoyance. Cash and no one to enjoy it with. She tried to think cynically of a “poor little rich girl,” but in the midst of it, she was both scared and bored, and she knew Villanelle felt even less.

“What wine is Macon known for?” Eve asked.

“Pouilly-Fuisse,” Villanelle said. “All Chardonnay, all the time. I bet you drink a lot of Chardonnay.”

“...Yes.”

Villanelle chuckled. “Well, you will have a good time tonight.”

Eve tried to shake her existential thoughts as Villanelle continued.

“I’ve been to Macon. It is extremely charming. Lots of old things. Churches. A river. You will like it.”

“I already do,” Eve said.

With the promise of wine in her future and the decapitated head in her past, she asked, “What’s your purpose in life, Villanelle? Besides saving the United Kingdom and Ireland from another great civil war?”

“To not get killed before I have sex with you,” Villanelle said.

“Oh. Yes. I can get behind that,” Eve stammered.

“We are of one mind,” Villanelle said.

Eve settled her left hand on Villanelle’s thigh, while she scrolled through a list of restaurants in Macon with her right. “I suppose you want French food.”

“I will eat anything,” Villanelle said.

_Even Niko’s_ _cooking_.

“Good, then I’ll pick.”

Villanelle glanced her way with a genuine smile. Then dropped a bruised hand off the steering wheel to press Eve’s hand. “I cannot wait.”

***

Flush with cash, they settled at a French restaurant near the St. Laurent’s Bridge, near their hotel, which Villanelle insisted had spectacular views of the river. It was indecently romantic. Eve thanked God they were on the wrong side of the river for sunset. 

She drank generously the white wine, and picked at her food.

Villanelle ate and drank heartily, and talked about France. She occasionally brushed her foot against Eve’s calf, but went no further. 

The hotel would be soon enough and Eve would… would….

She took another gulp of wine, nearly coughing.

Villanelle waved a fork at her. “How many girls have you kissed?” she asked.

“Me?”

“No, the old man behind you. Yes.”

“Um…”

Yet another sip of wine. 

“Three.”

Villanelle laughed. Cackled, really, tossing her head back and then rolling her eyes at Eve. “You think you’re straight and you’ve kissed three girls?”

“One in high school, one in college, one… mistake. And I was drunk every time.”

The foot nudged her calf again. “You’re drunk now.”

“That I am.”

“Do you want to walk along the bridge? Put a lock on it?”

Eve narrowed her eyes, considering. “Have you done that? With people?”

“Do you mean, have I dated?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Villanelle lifted one shoulder. “Sometimes. When I had free time. When I was bored.”

“Do you get lonely?”

Villanelle’s face crumpled into disbelief. “Of course I get lonely, Eve. I am the only one of my kind. My friends all end up dead.” She looked away, at the river, and didn’t touch her wine glass.

Eve thought of the children’s book with the lonely dinosaur. She put down her glass and covered Villanelle’s hand with her own. “I do too. Even when I’m with other people.”

Villanelle turned back and met her gaze. “When you are with Niko?”

Eve intertwined their fingers. She’d been thinking about this for months. “I have a confession to make.”

“You want me.” Villanelle leaned forward. “I am ready, Eve.”

“Oh for crying out--It’s not that. I mean, it is that. Just let me talk.”

Villanelle pursed her lips.

“I love sex,” Eve said.

Villanelle grinned. “Wait until--”

“With men.” Eve thought of her last time with Niko, when she’d been thinking of Villanelle. Her first time with Hugo, when she’d been thinking of Villanelle. “That’s why I’m not...whatever you think. I love sex.”

Villanelle began laughing.

“So should we go to the hotel?” Eve asked.

“If you add, ‘to get this over with,’ I am not going to have sex with you,” Villanelle said.

“Well, it will be the first time of many, I’m sure. Unless I die.”

“Wise words.” Villanelle got out a roll of cash and began peeling off euros. “Let’s go.”

***

They sat facing each other on the edge of the bed. The same way they had in London, before two women walked out of Villanelle’s bedroom and thanked her for the sex. But their sides reversed. Reversed, too, from Paris. In London, Eve had been jealous. Not of Villanelle’s sexual habits, but of Villanelle’s attention. She had wanted Villanelle focused only on her. 

Obsessed over her. 

Now here she was, gazing into Villanelle’s eyes and wondering. 

“Who are you?” Eve asked Villanelle.

Villanelle’s eyes widened. “What? Eve. I am not that complicated.” She laughed a little.

“Yes, you are. You have… fathoms.” It wasn’t the right word, but the dictionary in Eve’s brain was shutting down as other parts of her body took over. At least Villanelle wasn’t making fun of her, just sitting there with a raised eyebrow.

Waiting. Expectant.

“That’s how I feel about you,” Villanelle said. “You surprise me, Eve.”

“When?”

Villanelle’s expression brightened. “When you stabbed me. I was very surprised. But that’s also when I stopped thinking about you as a rival, someone to play with, whatever, and… That’s when I fell in love with you.”

“When I stabbed you,” Eve repeated. For clarity.

“Yes.”

“You are one sick fuck, Villanelle.”

Villanelle smiled, cautiously.

Eve took Villanelle’s hand. It was warm against her fingers. Eve thought of Villanelle as cold-hearted. Maybe even sterile, surgical. But she was a demon encased inside a woman’s flesh, and her hand felt the same as any woman’s. Eve studied the long fingers, the clotted but not scabbed knuckles. The little white lines. If she turned Villanelle’s hand over, she suspected she might find boxer’s callouses.

She imagined those rough fingers against her stomach, her hips, her thighs. 

“I have another confession,” Eve said.

“Well, it is the day for it.” 

Villanelle’s hand was politely limp in Eve’s, but the rest of her was animated, like she would burst into pure, white energy at any moment. Bounce on the bed. Scream at the top of her lungs. 

_Rescuing a tiger from a tree_.

Eve hummed the tune in her mind before gathering courage. She said, “It didn’t bother me when you decapitated that… that guy. The Russian. It was fine.”

“You felt nothing,” Villanelle said.

“Yeah. I guess that’s how you could describe it.”

“And Raymond?”

“I was only concerned about you.”

Villanelle’s fingers came alive, intertwining with Eve’s, capturing her. “And all those other kills you studied and tracked and mapped. Those photos you looked at. The smell of blood in Germany.”

“Just a thrill,” Eve said.

Villanelle’s grin turned feral. She tugged on Eve’s hand.

Eve hesitated. “But still. When you hurt Bill...and Niko. It broke my heart.”

Villanelle’s expression didn’t change, but she nodded.

Eve took another deep breath. “I know I’ve broken your heart, too.”

“You have. Eve—“

“So how do we do this?” Eve gave a short laugh, and waved their linked hands.

“Uh.” Villanelle shook herself. “We could watch a movie? Or—“

“No. No distractions.” 

Villanelle nodded. She asked, “You were usually in charge, with Niko, right?”

“Yeah. Until that time.”

“The time I watched,” Villanelle said.

Desire surged through Eve like Villanelle had lit a match. She swallowed. Then she scooted closer to Villanelle on the bed. She put their hands in Villanelle’s lap instead of between them.

Villanelle watched her every move.

Eve switched hands, pressing her left hand against Villanelle’s warm fingers, and using her right hand to push away Villanelle’s ponytail from her neck. Catching loose strands against her fingertips. She thought, intrusively, of Villanelle’s DNA. Of taking samples. And then of the 19th century woman who’d kept her lovers’ pubic hair in her diary. Intimate. 

Eve wanted more. She pressed her lips to Villanelle’s clothed shoulder, and then to Villanelle’s bare neck. Warmth again greeted her, and a curve she could follow up to Villanelle’s jaw with her lips, to the corner of her mouth. There she exhaled slightly, and could feel, rather than hear, the growl that went through Villanelle.

She’d never taken much interest in anyone else’s neck. She preferred getting onto the main action. But Villanelle was letting her explore. Be new, be different. Villanelle was still, except for quiet breathing. 

She kissed Villanelle’s mouth and again waited for the world to end.

It didn’t. Nor was she struck by lightning, or stabbed, or suffocated. Villanelle’s lips merely parted for her, inviting her in. She entered. Villanelle remained quiet, her tongue brushing Eve’s. Friendly, not predatory. Her fingers tightening around Eve’s hand.

Eve kissed her firmly, then retreated, sitting back up. 

Villanelle’s gaze started at their linked hands, then moved up Eve’s arm to her face, and then her eyes. 

“What do you want to do with me?” Villanelle asked.

The word echoed in Eve’s mind. “Everything.”

Villanelle leaned forward and captured Eve’s mouth in a searing kiss. She twisted, using her free hand to grip Eve’s shoulder and hold her in place. The kiss this time was deep, and exciting, as Villanelle’s tongue possessed her, but only to tantalize her, not to tame her. 

Eve stood up to break the kiss. “Take off your shirt.”

“Okay, Eve. Don’t you want to help me?”

Eve grinned. “Not yet.”

Villanelle pulled off her shirt and dropped it without ceremony. Then she reached behind herself and unclasped her bra.

_That_ was too much, and Eve almost stopped her, because she wasn’t ready to see another woman’s breasts. But there they were, larger than she’d imagined, with shape and hard nipples.

Eve’s jaw must have dropped as she breathed in because Villanelle laughed. 

“Do you not watch porn?” Villanelle asked. 

“No. Not really.” Eve flashed back to her last conversation with Bill, the orgies and the same-sex touching. If only he were still around to mentor her through this. “I was always pretty—“

“Normal?” Villanelle asked, her eyes narrowing.

“No. Conservative? Boring? I found something I liked and kept doing it.”

“But now you want to do something different,” Villanelle said.

Eve didn’t respond, but her eyes stayed on Villanelle’s chest.

“You want to touch my tit, and see if it feels different from your own. Check it for lumps, maybe. See if yours are defective by comparison.”

Eve did want to do all of those things. But she didn’t dare, until Villanelle took her hand and placed it on her breast, her palm flush against the nipple.

“You did that to me, you made it hard,” Villanelle said. “Just thinking of you. Now see if you can get it even harder.”

Eve liked to problem-solve. After one tentative touch, she was cupping Villanelle’s breasts with both hands, brushing the nipples with her index fingers and then squeezing them until Villanelle was pressing her thighs together and Eve’s loins were sympathizing. 

_Second base. Good for you, Eve. _

“Now let me see your tits,” Villanelle said.

“Uh, sure.” Eve relinquished Villanelle’s breasts, with some regret, and unbuttoned her blouse. Halfway through she wondered if she should be doing it more seductively, like she and Niko were playing around, but she pushed aside the thought, shucked the shirt, and turned around so her back was to Villanelle.

“I’m not as flexible as you,” Eve said.

Villanelle pushed her forward slightly, and then stood up behind her, her proximity tickling Eve’s nerve endings. 

She unclasped Eve’s bra and then pushed the straps down Eve’s arms, until they were free. Then she wrapped herself around Eve and buried her face in Eve’s hair. 

“Amazing,” Villanelle purred. She stroked Eve’s stomach. 

In Villanelle’s embrace, consumed by gentleness and light touches, Eve felt safer than she had ever been in Villanelle’s presence before. She had expected—suspected—doom the moment she was undressed in Villanelle’s presence, or lose her soul. But not this loving warmth.

She turned around, breast to breast with Villanelle, and kissed her again. She cupped Villanelle’s face to secure the kiss, to hold her fast, and this time it was her tongue that invaded, explored, tasted.

Villanelle’s grip moved to her back, and then to her ass. 

They settled into the kiss, long enough for Eve’s lips to feel swollen, to understand the sensation of Villanelle’s nipples poking into her breasts, to know that the reverse was also happening, to then, even more dimly, realize they were swaying together, that her center was trying to reach Villanelle’s center in an urgent way. She moved the kiss back to Villanelle’s jaw, and then her ear, and bit.

“Eve, you beast,” Villanelle said, laughing, arching her throat like a surrendering wolf, going back to Eve’s hair to pull, firmly, which became Eve’s favorite new thing.

“I think,” she said, against Villanelle’s delicious ear, “We should take off the rest.”

“Okay,” Villanelle said, dropping her hands to her jeans and working the top button. “But if you stare again I will have to masturbate.”

“Do you ever stop?” Eve asked, chuckling. She stepped away from Villanelle’s orbit and undid her own slacks, her hands slightly trembling, but determined.

“Only when I am being professional,” Villanelle said. She huffed.

“Which is...when,” Eve said.

Villanelle shucked her jeans and then hopped onto the bed, sprawled out flat on her back, and spread her legs. “Almost never.”

“That’s what I thought,” Eve said. Then she was crawling up Villanelle’s body. She knew how to do this, how to find the focal point of a person’s arousal and bring pleasure. She planted her hands on the sides of Villanelle’s biceps and leaned down, slowly, feeling the anticipation course through both of them, and covered Villanelle’s nipple with her mouth.

She traced contrasting textures. Rough wrinkles. Smooth flesh. She wasn’t immune to Villanelle’s reactions when she tongued her nipple. Villanelle squirmed underneath her. Whined. Then crooned.

“Eve…”

The smells were different, too. Familiar to her own scent, but without the accompanying male sweat she was used to. 

Villanelle’s legs parted. She freed her arm and intertwined her fingers into Eve’s hair, pressing downward. 

“I know you want it,” Villanelle said. “Take it.”

Eve slid to the floor, kneeling, and Villanelle scooted with her, without being told, until her knees were comfortably bent over Eve’s shoulders, and Eve’s fingers were digging into Villanelle’s hips. Holding on for dear life. Eve followed her nose. Villanelle was impeccably groomed, with just enough hair for Eve to touch, to acquaint, before moving lower. 

She dug her tongue into the crease of Villanelle’s leg and her center. There was the taste of perspiration, the taste of want. 

She made one last plea for mercy. Not exactly to Villanelle, but whoever in the universe was watching. Was interested in this. “I’m going to be clumsy.”

Villanelle cackled. “Good. Then I will not be jealous of your world champion pussy-eating skills.”

Eve snorted, and pressed her nose between Villanelle’s folds. Then, after gathering courage, brought her tongue to Villanelle and took a slow lick upward. She knew where the clit was, even if Villanelle hadn’t bucked her hips to meet Eve’s mouth. And now she knew how it felt against her lips. She licked again. Villanelle kicked her in the back.

She had stopped being afraid that Villanelle would kill her days ago, and it had given her new life. Safety. Affection. The tortured, life-and-death fucking she had imagined had given way to what Villanelle had offered her all those months ago in Paris and she had rejected. Tenderness. 

She wanted to apologize. She wanted to cry. Instead, she said, “I’m going to make you come.”

“You already have, so many times.” Villanelle tugged at her hair. “But this one will be the best, for sure.”

_Damn right_. 

She pressed her tongue firmly against Villanelle’s flesh, balancing herself, helped, not hindered, when Villanelle grabbed her hair and held her in place. She was free to slide two fingers into Villanelle, taking without asking, rewarded by Villanelle’s screech. Sliding up and down, in and out, she wasn’t naive to think Villanelle’s sounds were just from passion. Villanelle was giving her a show and Eve, finally, was willing to watch. To give her the attention she craved, through the language she understood most; sex. 

The pleasure Eve was deriving, her own lust driven by the scent and taste of Villanelle, from the very sounds that manipulated her, was a surprise. Villanelle’s tightness around her fingers was entirely arousing. Eve wondered the last time she’d been this way, making love for the sheer connection of it, not just to grind and get off.

“I’m coming, Eve,” Villanelle’s voice was a whisper. It had lost its laughter and instead held something weightier. “Coming for you, Eve. Eve.”

Eve’s body responded like a plucked guitar string. She pressed her thighs together and buried herself between Villanelle’s legs. Villanelle bucked, losing control, groaning as Eve held her to the bed. Kept her from thrashing or floating away.

When Villanelle relaxed, Eve stood up, rolling her neck, amazed at the wetness on her cheeks, on her hands. The taste she still held on her lips. 

“Marvelous,” Villanelle purred. 

Eve struggled for a pithy comment. None came. She felt powerful in nakedness. Aphrodite--No, Athena. She settled onto the bed next to Villanelle. Propped herself up on one arm. 

Villanelle stretched luxuriously and turned to meet her. 

“I don’t have a knife,” Eve said.

Villanelle cupped her cheek and looked wonderingly at her. “Maybe someday we will try that. But safer.”

Eve swallowed.

Slowly, as if giving Eve space to say no, even though Eve couldn’t say no, Villanelle crouched, until she knelt, one leg between Eve’s, the other outside. 

“I am going to have you,” Villanelle said.

Eve met her gaze and found fire. 

Villanelle traced Eve’s collarbone, and then drew a line down her chest, to her stomach. “I am going to do things to you.”

“Do them,” Eve said.

“Don’t worry,” Villanelle said, dipping her head to Eve’s ear and whispering, “I don’t have a knife either.”

Eve put her hands on Villanelle’s hips. Villanelle, grinning, pressed a leg against Eve’s center, which sent a stilling warmth through her, blanketing some of the arousal, holding it at bay. Eve, always frantic, was becoming something else. Villanelle laughed against her ear, and then bit her earlobe, and then tongued her ear along the edge, and then inside.

“Jesus.” Eve said, squirming.

Villanelle moved to her neck, kissing first, and then biting. Eve moaned despite herself. She’d meant to be a passive participant. To let Villanelle, as promised, _do things to her_. But she was writhing, away from Villanelle’s teeth, against Villanelle’s leg. Pinned. 

Villanelle squeezed her nipple between two pinching fingers and Eve moaned again. She was going to have to take control of this situation soon, or she was going to fall to pieces.

“Villanelle,” she tried.

“I have been dreaming of this moment,” Villanelle said, nuzzling into the crook of Eve’s arm. 

“Good. It’s just.”

Villanelle arched back up to meet her eyes. “Yes?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Do?” Villanelle laughed. “There’s nothing to be done.” She ground into Eve, putting her hands on Eve’s stomach to feel Eve’s hips rolling. 

Eve’s fingers slid to Villanelle’s waist. “Kiss me.”

Villanelle dipped to kiss her mouth, and then lowered her body onto Eve’s, covering her. Eve rocked against her, unable to dislodge her. Trapped and horny. She laughed and then sought out Villanelle’s lips for another kiss. 

Villanelle’s body against her felt good. Really good. She moved and was kissed. The world seemed free of violence and doubt. 

“More,” she said to Villanelle. “Harder.”

Villanelle dug fingers into Eve’s hip. Bit her nipple. Hurt her, and unleashed her arousal from its simmer, back to a boiling, alive, escaping thing. Eve groaned. “Yes,” she said. 

“I like your sounds,” Villanelle said. “When I imagined this, you were only in my head. This is…” She bit Eve’s neck, and then kissed her, quickly, bruisingly. “Everything.”

“Yes,” Eve agreed. “I need you.” 

Eve wanted to come. She wanted to explode. The arousal was becoming torment. Her eyes were closed. Her body was in motion. 

Villanelle repositioned, and slid two fingers into her. Not deep enough. “More,” Eve said. “I need more.”

“Oh, I forgot. You’re used to dick.” Villanelle penetrated her with three fingers, stretching her, filling her, reaching secret spots in her that only curved and probing fingers could reach.

“Fuck, yes,” Eve said.

Villanelle whispered in Eve’s ear. “I love you.”

“What?” Eve’s eyes opened. 

Villanelle thrust into her again, and this time, stroked her clit with her thumb. It brought Eve to the precipice; Villanelle inside her. Villanelle scaring her. Villanelle circling her clit. 

“I’m going to—”

Villanelle licked her ear. Slid through her core. Tore her apart. Eve closed her eyes again and shouted something between “Oh God!” and “Villanelle!” as the orgasm overtook her. 

_La petite mort_.

“That’s perfect, baby,” Villanelle said, her touch becoming gentle. 

“Come here,” Eve said, as her breathing relaxed.

Villanelle flopped next to Eve, close enough for Eve to roll to her and embrace her. Villanelle hugged her back, damp fingers drawing circles on her spine.

“Thank you,” Eve said.

“I am often thanked after sex,” Villanelle said. 

“I’m not surprised,” Eve said. She kissed Villanelle’s cheek, and then her nose, and then her lips.

Villanelle deepened the kiss, searching for Eve’s tongue. 

When they broke apart, Eve asked, “We’re doing this again, right?”

“Yes. Now,” Villanelle said.


	5. Calais

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!

Eve wiped the steam off the window and looked at herself. Her upper body and neck were covered in purpling bruises. One shoulder showed teeth marks. She smiled at reflection. Ravenous. Changed. She and Villanelle had only scratched the surface of their power over each other. There were so many things to try. Limits to push. Things to break. 

Her lips no longer felt as swollen as they had all night. And she was clean. The sheets were not. She felt embarrassment at the maid finding them, but _c'est la vie_.

Tonight they would be home in London. Maybe they would get tonight, one more night together, before they had to go to work. Had to hunt and kill again. 

Eve needed the fortitude. 

“Come on, lazyhead,” Villanelle said. “The shower went off ten minutes ago.”

Eve emerged into the bedroom, naked.

Villanelle’s gaze raked her, and then she sighed. “Carolyn will probably be mad that we are late because of the sex,” she said.

“I don’t care,” Eve said. 

Villanelle smirked. She was already dressed. Looking fresh with her hair down and her Real Madrid hoodie. The girl next door. Almost innocent.

Eve longed to kiss her, and so she did, crossing the distance between them and taking Villanelle into her arms.

Villanelle smiled at the kiss, ceding her mouth to Eve’s desires. 

For a moment. Then she slapped Eve’s ass. “Get dressed. I want to…” She paused, and her grin got bigger. “Get this over with.”

“Oh, God, so do I.” Eve pulled on slacks and a blouse, trying to look professional. Like an adult. More than she could expect from Villanelle, but if they were seeing Carolyn again... Or Kenny. 

Or Hugo… Her blood ran cold. Worry crept into her chest. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

“Don’t forget to lock the door this time, Eve,” Villanelle said, taking her bag outside.

“Right. Right.”

Eve didn’t regret their night together. But she regretted her whole life. And they were returning to it. She was flummoxed. She didn’t want to leave Macon. But she did, unlike Villanelle, care about the rest of the world. At least enough to trust that her job would help.

Villanelle flipped through the satellite radio channels and settled on some French hip-hop.

Maybe that would calm her nerves. 

***

Carolyn texted that a limousine would meet them at the Médiathèque l'Octogone. Eve dutifully programmed the address into the GPS.

“They’ll be closed,” Villanelle said. “Disappointing.”

“Yes. Because what I want right now is another museum.”

“Too many old things in Macon?” Villanelle asked.

“As an American, it’s unsettling. I’ve adjusted to London, but to know there’s a whole world out there, thousands of lifetimes lived before my very unique and special one.”

“Doesn’t it remind you of evolution? We are so much better than those old dusty farmers.”

“Maybe. What would they think of us?”

“Eve, you cannot have your self-esteem affected by the ghosts of the past.”

“That’s literally… are you nervous?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Must be nice,” Eve said.

“You know it is not,” Villanelle said. “Stop having cold feet. This will all be fine.”

“You don’t have to face your husband,” Eve said.

“See? If I had killed him it would have solved all your problems. But you are so irrational about it.”

_“I love you” _echoed in Eve’s mind.

“Matters of the heart are irrational, I guess,” Eve said.

Villanelle snorted. 

“Are you ever worried about being arrested?” Eve asked.

“I have been arrested. I have been to prison. It was fine. The girls are nice, the guards try to grope you, you eat shit. I could do it again.”

Eve shifted to face Villanelle from the passenger seat. “You really could, couldn’t you?”

“Psychopaths don’t respond to negative punishment,” Villanelle said. “I read a book.”

“Hm.” Eve settled back, and then put her hand on Villanelle’s thigh. “Just positive reinforcement?”

Villanelle grinned. “To an extent.”

Eve drummed her fingers on Villanelle and watched the road.

“Hey, remember when I tried to kill you on that mountain?” Villanelle asked.

“No,” Eve said. “We are not having sex whlie you’re driving.”

Villanelle grumbled. Then she asked, “Maybe the limo?”

“Maybe. If they have a screen.”

“Not having a screen is the whole point,” Villanelle said.

“Sex requires compromise.”

Villanelle drew Eve’s hand on her thigh up to her center. Eve felt the heat through Villanelle’s jeans. She pressed. 

“A compromise,” Villanelle said.

“Even if we can’t do anything? Isn’t that torture?”

“It is fun. I like to be just a few steps away from sex at all times.”

“Makes sense,” Eve said.

“Besides, I like your hand. It’s beautiful. I want it close to me.”

“Oh.”

“Romance is a thing, Eve.”

“Noted.”

***

They ditched the car at a dealership in Calais and walked the mile to the meeting spot. Villanelle skipped at times. Eve maintained a more solid pace, occasionally glancing at her phone, not trusting herself to walk in a straight line.

The weather was sunny. The sky blue. The same as it had been in Rome, when Eve had dressed up as a maid and Villanelle had killed to save her life. It felt only steps away.

The octagon building came into view. Villanelle clapped.

A black, extended SUV limousine waited, between them and the building. The driver didn’t get out, but he rolled down his window and nodded at them.

“So formal,” Villanelle complained.

“Just get in,” Eve said. She opened the door on her side, forcing Villanelle to walk around the back of the car. Eve wondered if Villanelle would get in, or disappear, forcing Eve to go after her again. Her stomach flipped. 

But as she buckled her seatbelt, Villanelle appeared. She grabbed a bottled water from the mini fridge and nearly tore the top off, drinking a long sip before winking at Eve.

The driver raised the glass between them and his cockpit. Then he raised the black screen. He said through the intercom system, “Your paperwork is in the messenger bag. Push the button if you need anything.”

“Cheers.” Villanelle raised her water bottle.

Eve picked up the messenger bag from the seat. Inside were two passports, two thousand euro, National Identity cards, a handgun--looked like a .22--and some first aid supplies.

Eve studied her own passport. “Dawn Park.”

“Very imaginative,” Villanelle said. She opened her own. “Adrian Walker. That is the fakest name I’ve heard.”

“You sound like a yoga instructor.”

Villanelle scoffed and tossed the passport back in the bag.

The car began to move. Eve rolled her head against the back of the seat. 

“We’ll be in London in forty-five minutes.”

Villanelle, who hadn’t put on her seatbelt, snuggled into Eve, putting her chin on Eve’s shoulder. “That is not a lot of time for sex.”

Eve pursed her lips. Then said, “I’m game if you’re game.”

“Okay. Eve. I have had sex in the back of a limo before.”

Jealousy surged through Eve. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because I have advice. Mechanics. You know.” Villanelle gestured.

If they only had 45 minutes… “Tell me.”

“Pants off. Because women should wear more skirts. Pants are just the worst when it comes to this.”

“What?”

“Hurry,” Villanelle said. She pushed down her own jeans, then belatedly removed her shoes, keeping on her socks, and got rid of the jeans and her underwear entirely. 

Eve sighed and undid the button of her slacks. Villanelle was faster, and pounced on her zipper, having her naked from the waist down in seconds. 

“You really have done this before.”

“Yup.” Villanelle straddled Eve, who’d managed to get off her seatbelt. 

Eve could smell Villanelle’s arousal, but eagerly dipped her hand between Villanelle’s legs all the same, rewarded by Villanelle’s gasp and rocking of her hips against Eve’s cautious fingers. 

“That’s it,” Villanelle said. “It has been a long drive.”

“I agree.” Keeping her hand moving, Eve cupped Villanelle’s neck and drew her in for a heady, sloppy kiss. 

Villanelle nipped at her lower lip, and then kissed her deeply, sending her tongue thrusting into Eve’s mouth at the same time Eve slipped her fingers inside Villanelle.

“You are a fast learner,” Villanelle said, panting, rolling against Eve’s lap.

“I know what I like,” Eve said.

Villanelle smiled, half-lidded, and squeezed Eve’s breast through her blouse. “Me too.”

“That feels good,” Eve said. 

“So do you.” Villanelle moved both hands to Eve’s breasts, stroking and pressing while she kissed Eve thoroughly. Eve would look ravished by the time they got to London, and it was an exciting thought. 

She rocked hard against Villanelle. She was getting no relief, while Villanelle was practically purring against her, moving up and down in rhythm, whispering against Eve’s lips. 

“Fuck me. Eve, only you can get me this wet. Harder. I’m yours. I’m all yours.”

Villanelle came, with a whole-body shudder as she sank onto Eve’s fingers. “Fill me up,” she sighed, kissing Eve’s cheek.

Eve removed her fingers. Villanelle caught her hand and brought it to her mouth. Sucked her clean.

The backseat reeked of sex. And Eve was still half-naked. She longed to pull her pants up. To check her phone for the time. To roll down the windows and breath the industrial scent of the tunnel. 

“We’re not done,” Villanelle said in a low, serious voice. 

Eve focused her attention entirely back on Villanelle, who slid down to the floor of the limo, staring intently at Eve’s face. She pushed apart Eve’s thighs. 

“In my mind,” Villanelle said. “I have fucked you in so many places. Done so many things to you.”

Eve found it hard to keep still. “What are you—”

Villanelle yanked Eve’s hips forward, and then lowered her mouth. “I’m going to eat you alive, Eve.”

Eve closed her eyes, blocking out the lights flickering past them, blocking out Villanelle’s determined gaze. Her whole being centered on Villanelle’s tongue ravishing her. Forceful and rough, there was none of last night’s tenderness. There was only being taken. Being devoured. Eve’s body responded with joy, with an excitement Eve couldn’t hope to contain. She could only thrust herself against Villanelle’s mouth and hope, and pray, that she could trust Villanelle to see her through this. 

“Please,” she whispered, betraying her grasp at control. “Please.” She begged. She was powerless.

Villanelle’s touch moved away. “Open your eyes.”

Eve looked down to see Villanelle peering up at her, as Villanelle moved her mouth back into her position. Her tongue, impossibly, was everywhere at once, but it was the devotion in Villanelle’s eyes, like she had been born for this moment, that won Eve’s orgasm. Villanelle lapped her through it, and then moved up to sit beside her with a satisfied, sweaty smile.

“See?” Villanelle asked, reaching for her water bottle. “How long did that take us?”

“I’m not checking.”

“But maybe we can—”

“We’re not doing it again.” Eve smiled.

Villanelle pouted, but snuggled against her, and they sat together for long, contented minutes, before putting their clothes back on and preparing to face the world. 


	6. London

The limousine dropped them off at a bank-looking building, with marble floors and gold pillars and a grand staircase. Standing in front of the staircase was Elena.

“Elena!” Eve rushed to hug her, while Villanelle lingered behind, holding their bags.

“Eve.” Elena gave her a squeeze and then looked her over. “No worse for wear.”

“How’s Hugo?”

“He’s still in the hospital, gunshot nicked his intestine. He’ll be okay. He’s eager to see you. I’ve arranged a trip.”

“What is this place? Why are you here? Why are we here?”

Elena laughed. “Two reasons. One, your offices for the task force are here. Second, as a pencil pusher at MI-5, I’m in charge of your safe house. Just like the old days.”

“Did you bring me a croissant?”

Elena smacked her arm. “Not just like the old days, I guess.”

Eve felt Villanelle’s gaze bore into the back of her head. “Elena, this is, uh, Villanelle. She’s working on the Irish problem, too.”

Elena offered her hand to Villanelle, who took it limply in a “Charmed, I’m sure” shake. Then Elena said, “Please don’t call it ‘the Irish problem.’” 

“Does it have a cool code name?” Villanelle asked.

“Sunburn,” Elena said.

“_Sunburn?” _Villanelle scoffed.

“Like Teddy Roosevelt?” Eve asked.

“Righto, Eve.”

Villanelle scoffed louder.

“So, uh, we have rooms? How does this work?” Eve asked.

“Yes, short term apartments on the 5th floor, the workspace is on the 6th. I’ll take you up there. Do you have more stuff?”

“Maybe I could go by the house?” Eve asked.

Elena nodded, and then lowered her voice. “Do you want to see Niko?” She glanced at Villanelle.

Villanelle took a few steps away and pretended to admire the ceiling frescos.

“No,” Eve said. She’d spent the last few days trying to come up with something to say to him. “Sorry about Gemma.” “When is the divorce paperwork ready to go.” But she hadn’t come up with anything either comforting or final. “I just…”

Elena patted her arm. “Come on. Let’s see the elevators.”

Villanelle clapped her hands.

Elena whispered, “What do you do with her?”

_Everything_. “Mainly try not to get killed,” Eve said. Then Elena looked away, and they were both thinking of Bill. The lump in her throat re-appeared, absent since the day she’d killed Raymond herself. When she’d had to make the choice to leave or stay with Villanelle. 

Her choice had consequences. She could see them on Elena’s face.

On the 5th floor, they had side-by-side one-bedroom apartments with a connecting door. There were eight apartments in all, for traveling foreign service officers, high value transients, and in the last apartment on the left, Kenny.

“He needs to be near all the high grade equipment. And he’s glad to be out of his mum’s, anyway,” Elena said. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Another few hours to figure out what to say to another person she’d betrayed for Villanelle. The cold, gray reality of London was beginning to seep into her, even as Villanelle bounced on the bed in her apartment, and asked about take-out options. 

“She’s armed,” Eve said. 

“Probably safest if she is,” Elena said. “Besides, it’s not like she couldn’t kill us all with a plastic fork.”

_Comforting_. Eve gave Elena another hug and prayed for forgiveness.

***

The 5th floor, it turned out, came with a butler. He brought them Chinese food from Eve’s favorite place. They ate on Eve’s couch. Villanelle went through every movie option on the room’s media box and settled on _Wonder Woman_.

“I never get to watch stuff like this,” Villanelle said. 

“Don’t you have a lot of downtime in your job?” Eve asked.

“Yes, but I don’t want to watch movies alone. That is what sad people do.”

“Oh, of course.”

Villanelle elbowed her. “Anyway, Gal Gadot is hot. I am glad I get to enjoy her.”

Eve had been glued to Chris Pine. She wondered if the movie would lead to an existential crisis either about her sexuality, or her relationship with Villanelle. 

“Stop thinking so hard and enjoy the movie,” Villanelle said.

“Oh, you can read my thoughts now?”

“I know that expression. It never leads to good things. That expression is how people get stabbed.”

“It’s how I found you, isn’t it?” Eve said.

“And how did that turn out? For you, I mean. Turned out great for me.” Villanelle chuckled to herself.

“I’m going to see about the wine.” Eve took their plates to the kitchenette and then opened the in-counter wine fridge. The selections were a pricy mix of French, Spanish, and Italian. “There’s no champagne,” she called to Villanelle.

“It’s in the big refrigerator,” Villanelle said.

“Oh, right.”

The movie sound disappeared, and then Villanelle was right behind her in the kitchenette, putting her hands on Eve’s hips. “Let me help you.”

Eve swallowed. “Find the glasses.”

Villanelle reached past her, where an upper shelf held champagne flutes. She took down two, then leaned against the counter while Eve went to the fridge. “I can open it better than you can.”

Eve eyed her, and then the bottle of champagne, and then her again. “Fine.”

Delighted, Villanelle took the bottle and began tearing at the foil. “This is a really nice place, by the way. I liked my London flat more, but now I feel like a dignitary, or someone.”

Eve thought of Villanelle in a Russian prison, dead eyes looking at nothing. Eve worried that she was slowly adopting the same expression. Giving up parts of herself, for this. 

She needed to get back to work.


	7. Konstantin

The door opened, which woke up Villanelle, which woke up Eve, who’d been wrapped in Villanelle’s arms. She opened one eye to see who’d entered, and then closed it again as her head began to pound. Had she slept in her clothes? Had she slept in her _bra?_

“Ugnh,” she said.

“Good morning,” came Konstantin’s lilting voice. “Eve, you have a meeting in an hour, so I have arranged for breakfast.”

“Donuts?” Villanelle asked. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, using Eve’s back as leverage.

Eve covered her head with a pillow.

“Yes, donuts. I also brought something for you, Eve. Little white pills and some water,” Konstantin said.

Eve peered out of her dark cave. Ibuprofen and a glass of water sat on the bedside table. She contemplated the effort of getting to them.

“She had too much champagne,” Villanelle said. “I tried to warn her.”

“No you didn’t,” Eve groused.

Konstantin chuckled and spread his hands wide. “I’m surprised this is working. Whatever it is.”

“She’ll get bored with me,” Eve said.

“Never, baby.” Villanelle stroked Eve’s back.

Eve snorted.

Villanelle was already up and examining Konstantin’s coffee offerings. “Do I have to go to the meeting? Meetings are so tedious.”

“No,” Konstantin said. “There is a gym in the basement. A real Ironman Crossfit experience. You will go for a run. I can’t imagine sitting in a car for three days has been good for you.”

“Sex is aerobic,” Villanelle said.

In protest of Villanelle’s conversation, Eve sat up and took her pills, and took in the room.

Konstantin had brought in a cart with a carafe of coffee, donuts, croissants, fruit, bacon, ham, and baked beans. Eve decided she was starving. Chinese had been long ago. Before the movie, before the obliteration of the second bottle of champagne they’d opened.

What had she been celebrating? She wondered. Her stupid life? Being back among her rightfully-judgmental friends?

Eve went to the cart and grabbed a croissant. “Are you helping with Sunburn?”

Konstantin smiled broadly. “No. Just with her. Although the Russians have their role in this, of course. I find myself in the precarious situation of supporting my government’s ability to secure itself.”

“By destabilizing everyone else.”

He gestured widely. “_Realpolitik_. But I am just the keeper of the dangerous weapon.”

“I’m a human being, Konstantin,” Villanelle said. 

“Aren’t we all. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Villanelle, I will be back in a half hour. I had some exercise clothes sent up for you.”

“Great.” Villanelle flicked him off.

He went out the door. 

Eve poured coffee and contemplated Villanelle in a leotard and legwarmers.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Villanelle said. “And I like it.”

Eve, for the first time since Rome, blushed.

***

In the conference room on the sixth floor, Eve found a wall of computer monitors that reminded her of the BBC. She also found Kenny, Elena, Jess, and Martin. 

“Are you an expert on Brexit?” she asked Martin warily.

“No. I’m here for you,” he said.

“Of course you are.” She sighed. But had no defense to offer him. Especially now that she’d broken the biggest taboo in her relationship with Villanelle by sleeping with her. Eve was sure Martin could see it all over her face. 

She sat down at the table, activated the iPad in front of her, and tried not to get into any more trouble. She longed to talk privately to Kenny and Jess, and hoped that would come in time.

Martin, pointedly, sat next to her.

“Okay,” Kenny said. “Here are our three main suspects, and who they’re connected to…”

***

Villanelle jogged easily on the treadmill, not even sweating. 

Konstantin paced in front of her, being annoying. 

“Why are you here? I don’t need a babysitter for the gym,” she said. “Do something useful.”

“Why did you kill Gemma?” Konstantin asked.

“Who?”

“Niko’s girlfriend.” Konstantin was looking uneasily at her.

Villanelle squinted. “Are you asking in an official capacity?”

“Sort of.”

“I killed her because she wasn’t Niko’s girlfriend. He didn’t love her. He loves Eve. He’s very in love with her, you know. So she--Gemma--was superfluous.”

“So you killed her for fun?”

Villanelle grinned as she pumped her legs. It had been fun. “Sure,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. You don’t kill for fun. You maim. You scar. Why kill, Villanelle?”

Villanelle stayed silent for a few minutes, hoping he would go away. But he stood there impassively staring at her. And she had no one else to share her feelings with. Just him.

“Because she couldn’t solve my problem. I was angry at her. For not winning over Niko. For not fixing everything. It was her fault, for not being enough for him.”

Konstantin nodded, like that was the response he expected. “Are you going to kill Niko?”

“No,” Villanelle said.

“You don’t even think about it?”

“I think about it constantly. But I learned my lesson with Anna, Konstantin. I’m not going to lose Eve because I’m a psychopath.”

“You really love her,” he said.

“I told her.”

“What did she do?” 

“Nothing,” Villanelle said. “She keeps having sex with me. And she’s a pleasant conversationalist when it’s not about work.”

“What do you talk about besides work?”

Now he was becoming a pain. She tried to wait him out again. 

He folded his arms.

“Konstantin, we spent two days in France. It was very romantic.”

His face twisted. “Fine. I will give you a break. And—” he paused, and went to his satchel, and pulled out an iPhone. “I will give you a phone. It is attached to a bank account. And it has a tracking device.”

“So everything I do will be recorded somewhere? Every ice cream I buy, every bridge I throw someone off of?”

“That is the idea,” he said.

“Fine. I will _try_ it.”

“Good. I don’t want Carolyn mad at me.”

“Oh no, wouldn’t want that.” Villanelle laughed at him, and began to run faster.


	8. House of Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been another murder.

Carolyn breezed into their office space, her face made of stone. “There’s been another murder.”

Kenny stood up. 

Eve swiveled in her chair. “Who?”

“Camilla Fothergill.”

“Never heard of her,” Eve said.

Kenny sat back down at his computer and typed in the name. “Administrative Assistant to Giles Faris. House of Lords.”

“One of the anti-Brexiters trying to get a new referendum.”

“Good luck,” Jess said from her desk.

Carolyn turned to look at her.

Jess shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“Kenny, I’m sending this to your screen.” Carolyn swiped her phone.

Photos of the crime scene appeared on the wall of monitors. 

Eve cringed. “She was killed—”

“--In Lord Faris’s bedroom.”

“Uh,” Jess said.

“Was she known to frequent it?” Eve asked.

Carolyn shook her head. “She had worked for him for ten years. They were quite close, but he’s one of those types who actually loves his wife, and according to social media, she loves men half his age.”

“So it’s staged,” Jess said.

“Seems so,” Carolyn said.

Eve leaned back in her chair. “Intentionally badly staged so that we would know it’s staged?”

“Don’t _Inception _this,” Kenny said.

“Where was Lord Faris?” 

“He was at a meeting with some other members of Parliament, trying to deal with the ‘Irish crisis.’”

“I thought we weren’t calling it that,” Kenny said.

Carolyn shrugged one shoulder. 

“So he wasn’t the target,” Eve said.

“You can’t change the scope of politics if you’re dead,” Carolyn said. “But he has allies. And they have secret--administrative assistants.”

“They would have chosen the most vulnerable one,” Jess said. “What’s he vulnerable to?”

“I’m sure he’s corrupt,” Kenny said. 

Everyone looked at him.

“I mean, they all are.”

“So maybe the Russians are applying more pressure. Saying his wife could be next.”

“Precisely. Today we’ll go through everything we can on Faris, and look for any connections to O’Sullivan. Tonight, we’ll introduce Faris to his new bodyguard.” Carolyn looked at Eve.

“No,” Eve said. “You can’t trust her out in the wild. With a Lord?”

“You’ll be with her.”

“I can’t _contain_ her. She’ll kill the family dog, or something. She’ll burn something down.”

“The Dark Triad has actually been debun—” Kenny started.

“She’s Villanelle. Something bad will happen.”

“Funny,” Carolyn said. “That’s the same thing we say about you nowadays.”

Eve rolled back her head to stare at the ceiling.

Jess giggled behind her hand.

Kenny, pointedly, began looking at bank records.

***

Villanelle was tired of being on her best behavior. Eve could tell by the way Villanelle looked around and shifted her weight. Taking Villanelle to a nice, public restaurant to have a nice, public meeting with Giles Faris was a terrible idea. Eve had brought it up so much that Carolyn threatened to duct tape her.

And now they were back in their black SUV limousine, with Konstantin and Kenny, who were going down a list of known Russian agents in the United Kingdom who might have ties to Giles Faris. They were going through Faris’s Instagram. Kenny had patched in MI-6’s facial recognition program, but Konstantin was even quicker with names.

Villanelle stopped tapping annoyingly on the window and turned to Eve. “Eve,” she said.

“Hm?” Eve didn’t look up from her phone.

Villanelle trailed her fingers down Eve’s arm. “Remember what we did last time we were in this very car?”

Kenny groaned. 

“No, I don’t.”

“What a pity you didn’t find it memorable. I’ll have to try harder.”

Kenny nearly dropped his laptop.

“Villanelle,” Konstantin said. “This is very expensive equipment.”

“_I’m_ very expensive equipment,” Villanelle said.

“That, too. But you should be memorizing the spread of known associates we gave you.”

Eve smirked. Watching Villanelle get into even mild trouble with someone who had power over her was a new experience.

“I know what an assassin looks like. And what a thug looks like. And what a nerd looks like.” She glared at Kenny.

“Hey, what did I do?” Kenny said.

“Eve likes you better than she likes me.” Villanelle folded her arms.

Kenny wrinkled his brow. “Eve doesn’t really like anyone. She just pretends.”

Villanelle smirked.

Eve gritted her teeth. The fun had ended abruptly. She focused on her phone. _She_ was memorizing faces. 

The limo pulled up to the restaurant. They were close to the Westminster Bridge, with Big Ben on one side of the river and the Eye on the other.

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November,” Villanelle said.

“You brought her to the heart of the kingdom,” Eve said. “It’s on you if she blows it up.”

“If James Bond was real, we wouldn’t have to resort to using an assassin,” Kenny said.

“I’m sure James Bond is doing real work, not just babysitting some sniveling patrician,” Villanelle said.

“Please, let’s not quarrel,” Konstantin said. “We are all part of a plan. Maybe it will work out.” He smiled gregariously. 

Eve shoved her phone into her pocket.

The driver opened the limo door to the sidewalk.

Eve got out first, and then, reluctantly, offered her hand to Villanelle to help her out.

“You two have fun.” Konstantin gave a little wave.

Villanelle slammed the door. The driver cringed. “I’ll be around the block, ma’am. Text.”

“We’re wired,” Eve said. 

He shrugged and went back to the driver’s side.

Villanelle leaned close to Eve’s chest. “Can you hear me?”

“This is going to be great,” Eve said.

“I’d feel better if I had a gun,” Villanelle said.

“This is literally Parliament.”

“Still.”

“Let’s just go inside.” Eve ascended the steps and went through the door that a restaurant host held open for her.

Villanelle scurried after, and said, “That man’s an agent.”

“What? Who?”

“The doorman. He works for MI-5. He’s taking pictures of everyone who walks through the door, and he’s checking for weapons. I bet he’s packing.”

“Are you going to be like this all night?”

Villanelle curled her lips and frowned.

Carolyn appeared on the upstairs railing. “Up here, ladies.”

“Here we go.” Eve clompily climbed the stairs, with Villanelle hissing behind her. 

***

Lord Faris was scared shitless. Although they made a point to meet in a public place where the press could see him, he barely picked at his food, and told rambling stories about Camilla. Carolyn didn’t allow anyone any wine, so Eve’s nerves stayed rattled. 

Villanelle sat like a stone, watching. She had learned patience somewhere. Maybe in prison. 

Eve’s pedigree was impressive enough for Faris. Years in witness protection and a nice suit went a long way. No one mentioned her very last case. Or that her partner had been murdered in front of her. Or that her boss had been found with an expensive dress covering his mutilated genitals. 

That had all been Villanelle’s work, and Villanelle was _contained_.

Faris wiped tears off his face. “So, you’re moving in?”

“Yes. We’ll have men outside with alarm equipment, and Dawn and Adrian will be inside with you, and go everywhere you go.”

He sighed, an old man overwhelmed with information, trying to be polite. A lifetime of British decorum accentuated by grief. “But you said I wasn’t the target.”

“Your life is not at stake. Only your reputation.”

If this had been a silly American movie, Eve thought, he’d have said “Fuck my reptuation!” guilty or not, and they’d have free rein to provoke the enemy. But Faris merely looked scared. 

He cleared his throat, and frowned at Carolyn. “What about everyone else?”

“Everyone else?”

“Parliament. The Scottish Parliament. The Irish government. The voters, if I get my referendum passed. The Europeans.”

Carolyn leaned forward. She put her hand on the table, near his, and spoke clearly. “We have been at this business a very long time. A focused approach works best. You can be assured that the Homeland Secretary is looking at the long game, here. But we believe you’re important enough for our attention.”

Faris looked at his hands, and nodded.

***

Villanelle sat propped up against the headboard, flicking through the channels. “Do you think they have Netflix?”

Eve didn’t look up from her computer. “Do you even try to study for your cases?”

“Sure. When I have someone to _murder_.” 

“How did you know how to provoke Aaron Peel?”

“I just had to be in the same room with him for an hour.”

“Touche. So what are your impressions of Faris?” Eve turned around at the desk.

“He is sad. One of his friends just died.”

“Killed by someone like you,” Eve said.

“Wait.” Villanelle straightened on the bed. “When I killed that Bill, did you look like that?”

“Look like what?”

“Like… you’d just been run over. Gray and kind of like.. A dead leaf.” Villanelle ran a hand through her hair, furrowing her brow.

“Yes. Jesus, yes.”

“That’s why it’s better to kill bad people,” Villanelle said.

“Simon Chin wasn’t bad. You tore off his balls, remember?”

“The kinky guy?”

“That’s the one.”

Villanelle frowned. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Most people I kill are bad.”

“So you like working for the government.”

Villanelle considered. “When I killed Aaron Peel, I got to help the world. I got to kill a fucking asshole. I got to protect you. It helped Konstantin, too. It was very satisfying. The fat Chinese guy, that was just a job.” She shrugged.

Eve closed the laptop. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay. Hey. Do you think I will have to kill Faris?”

Eve winced. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “Probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Villanelle stretched. “Come to bed, Eve.”

Eve leaned against the bathroom door. “I am not having sex with you in a house where someone was murdered.”

“That severely limits our options.”

“It was _yesterday_.” 

Villanelle sighed. And then threw a pillow at Eve, who scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door. 


	9. Villanelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has too much poetry. I had to pad the word count for Nano. Sylvia Plath used without permission.

As a pencil pusher, Eve had always worked in an office. She’d gone to meetings. She’d made endless phone calls. She updated spreadsheets. She worked nine to five. Monitoring Faris was out of her purview, and was excruciatingly boring. She looked to Villanelle for tips on how to deal with the tedium. Exercise was a big part of it. And something that seemed like meditation. Villanelle sitting, watching, completely closed in on herself.

It almost seemed like a luxury.

But if Eve had had her choice, she’d rather have lunches at Starbucks with Jess, cigarette breaks with Hugo, and her own stuff. Her own nest, not this displaced feeling in Faris’s home. 

Faris met with fellow mourners and well-wishers. He took phone calls. He made lunch for the three of them and his two other assistants, a personal bodyguard, and his driver. He had, after all, an industrial kitchen larger than Eve’s first London flat.

Eve watched cat videos on Youtube. Then she watched some Brexit conspiracy videos Kenny sent her. When her mind felt entirely melted, she took a stroll around the house. The first floor had the kitchen, a grand dining room, two sitting rooms, Faris’s two-room office, and a small library. That was the size of her current kitchen--well, Niko’s current kitchen.

The library held law books and English treatises. No James Joyce. Though if she really wanted to, she supposed she could just read _Ulysses_ on her phone. 

She found a shelf of poetry. By their hardbound covers with gold leaf, she assumed they were gifts. Perhaps to Faris’s wife. She chose a volume of Lord Byron and took it with her back to the sitting room where she’d set up her mini-office. Maybe something in the book would help her with her relationship with Villanelle.

Sensibly, she could call Martin. He was even on the team. But she wouldn’t like what he said. He had clearly been overruled on the last two missions, and he’d been right about Rome. So had Kenny. They had no qualms about putting Eve into dangerous situations. So she would be dangerous.

Fucking Villanelle was definitely dangerous.

***

Villanelle examined the Byron book with mild disdain as they settled at the kitchen table. Security had provided takeout for the two of them, which Eve was getting sick of already. The rest of the Faris crowd had already eaten.

“What do you do?” Eve asked. “When you get bored, waiting around all day for something to happen?”

“Masturbate. Shop. Exercise. I certainly don’t read,” Villanelle said.

Eve nodded. “I’m going crazy.”

Villanelle flipped the book open. “I can see that.”

“It’s good stuff.”

Villanelle read, “I like your moral and machinery;  
Your plot, too, has such scope for scenery.  
Your dialogue is apt and smart;  
The play’s concoction full of art;  
Your hero raves, your heroine cries,  
All stab, and everybody dies…

“Okay, I like that last part, but it’s so cheesy.”

“Um, what?” Eve had been swept away by Villanelle’s voice when reading poetry, alluring and husky with soprano notes scattered about. She’d gotten louder with “Your hero raves, your heroine cries” and ended gleefully. 

Villanelle peered into Eve’s face. “Oh, you liked that.”

“Yes.” 

Villanelle kissed her, pushing her against the chair, cupping her head to hold her against bruising, hungry lips, until Eve lost her breath, and bit Villanelle’s lip in protest.

“I like that you like that,” Villanelle said, panting. 

“You’ll read more?”

“Maybe later. Eating’s important, too.” Villanelle slouched back down in her chair and picked up her fork.

Eve leaned back, still breathless, observing Villanelle as she pierced some chicken.

“Don’t look at me,” Villanelle said.

“What? Why not?”

“Aaron liked to look at me. It was so gross. I wanted to throw up all over him.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eve had seen that in the videos. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to freshen up.”

Villanelle swallowed her mouthful of food. “Wash your asshole!”

Eve didn’t say anything as she fled the kitchen.

***

Eve, naked, felt self-conscious on the sheets, so she slid beneath them, and pulled the fabric up to cover her breasts, and flipped through her phone, and waited.

When Villanelle came into the room, she held her breath. Villanelle merely winked and went into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, similarly, and gloriously, naked. She sat cross-legged on the bed, so that Eve’s gaze could follow her belly down between her legs and almost, almost see into her.

“Put your head in my lap,” Villanelle said.

Eve considered. She looked for threats. She examined possibilities. Then she slowly pulled back the covers and twisted around until her head was in Villanelle’s lap, her feet dangling over the side of the bed.

She could smell Villanelle’s arousal. She wanted to bury herself in it. But Villanelle was patiently stroking her hair. Being nice.

Eve frowned up at her. 

“I know a poem,” Villanelle said sweetly. She traced Eve’s lips, and then tickled her chin.

“Lay it on me.”

“Eve, this is not the 60s.” But Villanelle cleared her throat, and recited from memory:

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;  
I lift my lids and all is born again.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)  
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,  
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”

Eve thought this a very Villanelle poem, and smiled. Villanelle dug her finger into the puckered meeting place of Eve’s lips. 

“I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed  
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

Eve laughed. Villanelle tapped her nose. “I know, right? But I am not done.”

“God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:  
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
I fancied you'd return the way you said,  
But I grow old and I forget your name.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

Eve swallowed. Villanelle had ceased looking at her, and had focused on the far wall. Her body tensed.

“I should have loved a thunderbird instead;  
At least when spring comes they roar back again.  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

Eve reached for Villanelle’s wandering hand, clasped it, and drew it down to her chest. “You didn’t make me up.”

“You, either,” Villanelle said. She coughed, and shook herself.

Eve intertwined their fingers. “Wait. Is that a villanelle?”

“Yes. That is why I memorized it. In case I ever needed to… whip it out. Like a business card.” Villanelle shrugged a shoulder. “Sadly for you and your horniness, it is the only poem I know. Except some Russian kids stuff.”

“Why such a dark poem?”

“What, I should do Yeats or something? Please, Eve. Hath not thine bullshit in thy English language of fuckery.”

“It’s nice.” Eve hesitated. “Have you recited to other girls?”

“No.”

“Other boys?”

“_No._”

“Thank you,” Eve said.

Villanelle huffed, her gaze wandering around the room again.

Eve drew Villanelle’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm, and then each finger. She bit into the thumb, and then trailed down to Villanelle’s pulse, at her wrist. Villanelle was warm and alive and somehow, just for the moment, all hers.

Villanelle shifted. 

“We should totally have sex now,” Eve said.

Villanelle cupped Eve’s breasts. “Excellent. I am prepared.”

“No anal.”

“Well, you are no fun.”

“Try me.”

Villanelle wriggled out from under her, and then covered Eve’s body with her own, and head-bumped her cheek. “Let’s go.”


	10. Chelmsford

Eve rode with security in the second limo as Villanelle and Lord Faris, along with their driver, traveled in the first. It was like the wolf and the chicken crossing the river--Eve didn’t know if Lord Faris was safer with Villanelle or without her. 

The trip to Chelmsford was long and the car was warm. Eve found herself drowsing instead of reading up on the Amazon warehouse they were visiting. Lord Faris was to give a speech on diversity and open trade. Eve had never been to Chelmsford. She suspected Villanelle hadn’t been, either. 

“Have you been to Chelmsford?” she asked the driver.

“Nah,” he said. “My dad made valves in Chelmsford. You might know it as Teledyne.”

“Why would I know that?”

“It’s an American company.”

“Oh. Nope. Wonder why we’re not giving the speech there.” Eve looked it up on her phone.

“Because case in point. No one’s heard of it. Everyone’s heard of Amazon.”

“I see.” Eve said.

“You’ve got to think of your audience.”

Villanelle texted a bunch of eggplants, and then a heart, and the initials KC. Eve flushed. She texted back a middle finger and then shoved her phone into her pocket.

***

The warehouse district of Chelmsford was modern and well-laid-out, with wide avenues for trucks and goods. The inside of the warehouse was sleek and advanced. There were robots. Eve pretended to make conversation with one in her head while Lord Faris gave his speech.

Villanelle had disappeared. Probably lurking in some catwalk.

The crowd was made to wait while Faris and his people went out. The two SUVs had their passenger doors open, and the drivers beside them.

At both ends of the block, there were large groups of men.

“That’s weird,” Eve said.

The men came running toward them, collapsing in on them.

“Shit.” 

The escorts grabbed Faris and pushed him into the car. Halfway between the SUV and the warehouse, Eve wondered what direction to run in.

The men were close enough to hurl Molotov cocktails at them. One hit a driver and caught his coat sleeve on fire.

Gunfire sounded. Eve couldn’t tell from where.

Then something hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground. She landed hard, too stunned to take a breath, and then realized, from the familiar blanketing of the body, that it as Villanelle. She breathed.

“Eve!”

Eve turned her head as the men rushed past each other, like a medieval battle scene, zippering, dropping more fire bombs. The gunfire continued, but there was no screaming. Eve could make out a chant. “Brexit for the people!” 

“They’re shooting in the air,” Villanelle said, easing her grip on Eve. “Not at anyone.”

Then men flooded away like a parting of the sea, and in moments it was quiet again. Villanelle helped Eve to her feet. 

“You saved me,” Eve said.

“From nothing.” Villanelle scoffed.

Eve took her arm. “You do care.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Villanelle pulled away, heading toward Faris’s car.

“Oh, we will,” Eve muttered. Then she got into her own car, pulled out her phone, and dialed Kenny.

***

Villanelle and Eve sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of prosecco between them.

“Ha, remember when I pretended to poison you?” Villanelle said.

“Oh yeah. That was great.”

“You cried.”

“Villanelle. What happened today?”

Villanelle took a sip of prosecco and slouched in her chair. “I am not SWAT, okay. I am an assassin. There is usually me and one target. Not a charging horde. I do not have any experience in that. I am stealthy and invisible, not… burly.”

Eve drank, observed, didn’t say anything.

“I do not know why I was afraid. I wasn’t afraid when Aaron Peel tried to make me kill you. I mean, I wasn’t afraid for you then. But today--I don’t know.”

“You were afraid of losing me. You were confident, with Peel.”

Villanelle shrugged. 

“Have you been afraid before?”

Villanelle looked away, at the industrial refrigerator, and the magnets with pictures of family on the refrigerator. 

“Hey,” Eve said.

“When I was with Peel, I used the safeword. The code word. Gentlemen.”

“Yes. Why?”

“I was afraid. Because I saw videos of Peel murdering those women and I felt… I felt… I felt like he could do it to me. Even though I am me, I--it has to do with the man with the toilet brush in his throat. So I called you, but I didn’t know if you would come, or if you even heard me, or if you even cared.”

“I cared about nothing else.” Eve smiled, and Villanelle finally met her eyes and did the same.

“And now here we are, what, one week later? We haven’t had time to process.”

Villanelle scoffed. “Process. That is why we have _prosecco_.”

“Cheers to that,” Eve said.

“Did I hurt you? When I pushed you?”

“A few bruises. But it was worth it, to see you in action. Almost romantic.”

“I am the shining knight.”

Eve tipped her glass back and let the cold bubbling liquid slide into her throat. Then she pursed her lips and leaned forward. “Shall we get another bottle?”

“Yes. Upstairs. I will lick it off you.”

“No, sticky.”

“Okay. We’ll just drink it.” Villanelle got up. “Do I get to kill any of those men who did that to us?”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

***

Villanelle was on the bench press, pressing.

Konstantin stood stock still in front of her. Which was worse than pacing. He was too angry to move.

She tried to ignore him by sweating from her forehead into her eyes.

“I saw you on the news,” Konstantin said. 

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“There is a threatening situation with someone we’re supposed to protect, and you are on the ground, with your girlfriend.”

Villanelle said nothing. 

“If I was watching, people will be watching. Especially if the Twelve are interested in this Sunspot thing.”

“Sunburn.”

“Villanelle.”

“What do you want me to say? I can’t take it back.”

Konstantin sighed.

“Does Faris know? That I pussied out?”

“He does not, and it does not matter. He does not matter,” Konstantin said.

Villanelle felt an unsettling in her stomach. She got off the bench press and went to her water bottle. 

“I do not like it,” Konstantin repeated.

“Well, you know me. It’s going to get worse.”


	11. Real Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve finally faces Niko and Hugo.

_I'm so sorry, I forgot you  
_ _Let me catch you up to speed_  
_I've been tested like the ends of  
_ _A weathered flag that's by the sea_

  * Twenty-One Pilots

Niko texted. “Saw you on the telly.”

Eve, alone in her office, reading phone logs, texted back. “Do you want to talk? Any time today?”

“I’ll call you in a half hour,” Niko texted.

So Eve straightened her office and made notes on what she wanted to say. And what she didn’t want to say. Should she say she was sorry for Gemma? She was, but not in any comforting way. Not in a way that repudiated her murder-girlfriend. In a way that meant she would go back to Niko and beg forgiveness. She couldn’t see it being granted, anyway. 

She made tea. 

She cleared her throat several times.

The phone rang. She picked it up. “Niko?”

“Hi,” came his warm, friendly voice. 

She closed her eyes, wanting to sink into it. Best to dissuade them both of that. “I’m so sorry about Gemma,” she said.

“It was absolutely terrifying. I thought I was going to die.”

_I know the feeling_. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled through the phone, sending a hiss of static. 

“I’m back in London,” she said. “But maybe not for long. Maybe we should talk about arrangements before I get whisked away again.”

“I saw you with her. On the news.”

“Yeah,” Eve said.

“I thought about calling the police. Telling them that the woman who murdered Gemma was right there. I could identify her. Fuck up her life. Fuck up yours. Probably fuck up MI-6’s, am I right? I could really be a wrench in your plans.”

“You could.” Eve cleared her throat again. “But the thing we’re working on, it’s bigger than us.”

“Bigger than me, you mean. I doubt anything’s too big for you these days.”

“Niko…” Eve looked at her list of discussion items. Things did not seem to be going well. If he could throw bombs into the conversation, so could she. “Villanelle said you loved me.”

“I do, Eve. Maybe even the person you are now. And she doesn’t love you, you know that, right?”

_I love you._

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fulfilled, Niko. Even if my time on Earth is short, I--I’m complete now.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I hope you find someone to make you feel that way again.” Eve hit her forehead with the phone. What a ridiculous thing to say. “But it won’t be me.”

Another sigh. “Eve. If she hadn’t killed Gemma… Maybe we could talk normally about this. Be two divorced people with our lives. But she did. She killed someone I care about. For you.”

Eve thought not of Niko’s work girlfriend, but her own work boyfriend. Bill, and how Elena would never see Villanelle as anything more than a monster, and Hugo, who would never forgive Eve either for abandoning her. And Kenny. _She just pretends._

Tears burned her eyes, but she wasn’t going to let Niko know. She coughed, and then said, “It’s my choice. I don’t care if it’s a stupid choice.”

“It’s an evil choice.”

“Just text me when you have papers to sign. I’m keeping my retirement fund. You can have the house, and sell it, and retire to your bridge club.”

Niko hung up.

Eve folded her arms on the desk, pressed her head against them, and cried.

***

Hugo’s face brightened when he saw Elena, and then immediately fell as Eve appeared behind her.

“Is this okay, Hugo?” Elena asked. She set down a bag of crosswords and magazines. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Thanks, Elena.” He winked.

She swatted his shoulder.

Eve, uncharitably, wondered what Kenny would think.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Eve, I’ll be in the waiting room catching up on paperwork.” Elena squeezed Eve’s forearm, and then went through the door.

Eve cautiously approached the bed. “So. Uh. Hi.”

“Hi, Eve,” Hugo said. He folded his arms and regarded her.

“I am sorry.” Eve felt the tears well up again. It had been a day for them.

“Sorry for what, Eve?”

“Leaving you dying on the floor to save someone else.”

“Yeah. Why’d you do that, again?”

“I love her,” Eve said.

Hugo nodded. He drummed his fingers on his arm. “And that trumps common fucking decency.”

“Apparently. I have no excuse.”

“No. Excuse. I thought we were friends, Eve. I thought we were in the hunt together,” Hugo said.

“I don’t know what I thought,” Eve said. Uninvited, she sat down in the chair next to his bed. She looked at her hands.

“Are you going to be there? When I get back to work?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Eve gave a short laugh. “Unless I’m dead.”

“Well. We’d probably be best to put this shit behind us, right?”

Eve looked up, meeting his eyes. “Is there a way to do that?” Her lip wavered. She bit into it. 

“Sure. I’ll take a blowjob.” He grinned.

Eve blinked. “What? Really?” She stared at him. “No. You oaf.” 

Hugo laughed. “Just tell me one thing, Eve. Was I better than your husband?”

“You’re not as good as Villanelle.” She grinned.

“I’m changing the terms of the deal. You tell me all about it, I’ll forgive you for almost letting me die alone.”

Eve’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for Hugo’s hand. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too. I can only hope you get shot someday. See what it feels like.”

“Fair.”

“What’s the kinkiest thing she’s done so far?”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Like, during sex?”

“Not yet.”

“Not _yet_.” He beamed. “Does she know about our threesome?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“Well here’s to hoping that repeats itself.”

“I missed you, Hugo.”

“Can’t say the same, but I’m glad you’re here.” He squeezed her fingers. “Now, tell me more.”


	12. Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dubious Consent, Biting. NSFW. This chapter can be skipped.

_My soul, jealous of real coitus,  
__Made it a musky vessel for sobs and tears._  
\- Rimbaud

Eve walked into her dark apartment on the fifth floor. The lights were auto-sensing. She frowned. Went to the switch next to the door.

Someone grabbed her from behind, pushed her shoulder into the wall. “I disabled them,” Villanelle hissed.

“Why?”

“Some things are better in the dark.”

Villanelle, strong, wrapped herself around Eve’s torso, her hands playing at her shirt and the waist of her jeans. 

“What--” Eve tried to collect her thoughts while her body responded to Villanelle’s touches. 

“Don’t think of protesting,” Villanelle whispered against her neck. “Don’t tell me you’ve had a long day. Don’t tell me we have to get to work. In fact, don’t speak.”

“Okay.”

Villanelle licked Eve’s neck, from shoulder to ear, and then bit her. Hard. Pain sent alarms through Eve and she thrashed in Villanelle’s grip.

“Ow!” 

Holding her in place, Villanelle kept her mouth over the bite, her tongue tracing the circle of her teeth, and the pain, hot needles seizing her shoulder, her neck, and then like a hot bath, turned into burning, but comfortable, stimulation. Eve sank into it. She gasped.

Villanelle found her nipple through her shirt, poked it, chased it. “That’s right.”

“Villanelle…” Eve’s eyes were closed. She pressed her forehead against the wall. Her legs gamely held her up, but kept her curved into Villanelle’s body behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Did you think this wasn’t going to happen?” Villanelle asked. “That I wouldn’t be able to do exactly what I wanted to you?”

Villanelle slipped under her shirt and caressed her stomach.

Eve had given up her life for this. Her friends, her co-workers, her husband. All human connection had been rejected, scorned, killed, for Villanelle’s touch against her bare skin. She sighed, relaxing in Villanelle’s embrace, her neck aching.

“That’s right,” Villanelle said. “I’m done being PG-13 with you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eve asked.

“It means you have one minute to get undressed before I start slicing cloth from your body,” Villanelle said. She loosened her grip.

Eve kicked off her shoes. Then she undid her jeans and pushed them down, with her underwear, leaving her shirt loose around her torso. Villanelle steadied her while she kicked off the jeans, and then helped her pull the shirt over her head, and unclasped her bra, using the same gentle touch to slide the straps off her shoulders and press a loving kiss to her bare shoulder.

Before Eve could analyze and adjust to the change of pace, Villanelle seized her again, pinning her to the wall, her clothed body against Eve’s naked one, making Eve feel exposed and vulnerable, worried about the rough fabric chafing her, about her middle-aged body under Villanelle’s gaze, touched by Villanelle’s knowing fingers. 

“I think about this all the time,” Villanelle whispered against her hair. “In the car. In meetings. When I’m having Turkish coffee with Konstantin. When I’m killing someone.”

Eve groaned. 

Villanelle slipped a hand between Eve’s legs, felt her wetness, grazed her clit, and then retreated to her outer thigh. “I’m wet, too,” Villanelle said. “I have been for hours. Unhealthy, Eve.”

Eve said nothing. 

Villanelle continued to mangle her, squeezing her breasts a little too hard, touching her ass a little too gently, her teeth sinking into Eve’s shoulder, marking her. Eve was prepared for the pain this time, and sighed into it as it stabbed through her. 

“You can speak, Eve,” Villanelle said. Her fingers stroked the hair above her clit. “What do you want, right now?”

“Touch me,” Eve begged.

Villanelle’s other hand slid between the cheeks of her ass, and Villanelle’s finger pressed against her asshole, wrapped in something. Eve arched, instinctively trying to escape the finger, trying to throw herself on the hand Villanelle held so tantalizingly close to her center.

Villanelle laughed. She settled her grip demurely on Eve’s hips, allowing Eve a moment’s respite. 

“This is about choices, Eve. Will you choose to keep your hands against the wall, no matter what I do? Will you stay standing, even though your knees are jelly?”

“If I don’t?” Eve was hoarse.

“I’ll kill you.”

Eve didn’t believe her, but didn’t care. She slapped the wall, and gritted her teeth, and prepared for Villanelle’s assault on her life, her dignity, her essence.

Villanelle knelt behind her, keeping her hands on Eve’s waist. She bit Eve’s ass, which hurt worse than her neck or her shoulder, and then she rubbed Eve’s thighs. Eve only then realized how tightly she’d been holding herself, how the stance left her legs aching. She shifted more weight onto her hands. Her eyes remained closed. Her only reality was where Villanelle touched her.

Villanelle’s tongue touched her asshole, separated from her skin by something artificial. Cling-wrap? Eve forgot to wonder as Villanelle’s tongue moved. Circling, seeking penetration, hot and torturously smooth when Eve wanted rough, staying outside when Eve wanted penetration. 

So this is what the French poets were talking about. 

Along with Villanelle’s thick, unrelenting tongue, Villanelle pushed between Eve’s tense legs and slid two fingers into her, holding her impaled, pinned. The intense pleasure wasn’t enough, wasn’t going to help her come, Villanelle’s mouth and fingers too far from her clit. She considered reaching down, considered dying, but settled for pleading.

“Villanelle, God, touch me. I’m going to die.”

Villanelle’s chuckle tickled her skin. “Am I not touching you enough, Eve?”

“No. No, Goddamnit, please, Villanelle.”

With force that would have thrown her to the ground, had Villanelle not been deft, Villanelle retreated to grab her hips and twist her around, slamming Eve’s back against the wall. Then Villanelle’s tongue was on her, perfectly on her, and Eve arched back, offering herself. 

Strong laps of Villanelle’s tongue connected Eve’s center to the teeth marks on her, to her ass, now aching for a return of the touch that had tormented it. She came, holding herself against the wall until Villanelle was too much, and she slowly sank to the floor, unconnecting them.

She opened her eyes.

Villanelle sat on her heels, grinning cheerfully, her lips glistening in the low light.

“Satisfied?” Eve asked.

“Would you bite me back, Eve? Would you drip hot wax on me? Would you hold a knife to my throat and have the control to make the tiniest, stinging cut?”

Eve swallowed. 

Villanelle took Eve’s limp hand and surged forward, until she could press Eve’s hand to her chest. “I am yours, Eve.”

Eve bit down a quip. Instead, she licked her lips, and then grabbed Villanelle’s hand back. She pulled it to her lips and kissed Villanelle’s palm.

“What next?” Villanelle asked, running her finger across Eve’s lower lip.

“Can we fucking have dinner? I’m starving.”

“Whatever the working girl wants,” Villanelle said, leaping to her feet. “Go put on a robe, Eve.”

“Only if you do, too.”

“Fair enough. Salads?”

“God, please. I cannot eat anything fried ever again.”

“I concur absolutely.”


	13. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kill list.

Carolyn looked intently at Eve’s throat.

Eve shifted, pulling her collar up higher.

Carolyn turned her attention to Villanelle. “Is everything to your liking, Villanelle?”

Villanelle grinned. “Sure, boss.”

“Excellent. I do recommend the babaganoush.” 

“Yes,” Villanelle said. “Why are we having this for breakfast?”

Carolyn opened a manila folder. “I have here ten names. You’ll find dossiers on each. Most are in Northern Ireland. But not all. One in Glasgow, one perhaps in Dublin or further south.”

“Maybe Isle of Man?” Villanelle asked, digging her finger into the babaganoush as soon as it was placed on the table. 

“Hopefully not,” Carolyn said.

“What are we doing with these men?” Villanelle asked.

“I have no orders for you. Just a list of names,” Carolyn said.

“Carolyn,” Eve said. “That’s illegal. Right? Unpatriotic?”

“Only an American would use such a word. This is for the greater good, Eve. It is the most efficient way to diffuse the situation so that our political system can work unfettered.”

“Unfettered,” Villanelle said, licking eggplant off her finger. 

Eve set her jaw. “And are we going to have help on this?”

“The full support of your team. Kenny in the command center, with Hugo, Jess, and Elena. Just like with Aaron Peel. We’ve reassigned Martin.”

“And you?” Eve asked. 

“I won’t be available.”

“Konstantin?” Villanelle asked.

“He’s doing a different assignment.”

Villanelle smirked. “Intriguing.”

“Carolyn, this isn’t--This is ten people.”

“Yes, Eve.”

“If we… find one… won’t the others find out?”

“Your task might be progressively harder if you aren’t smart about it,” Carolyn said.

“I’m smart,” Villanelle said, looking bug-eyed at Eve.

Eve didn’t look at her, but kept her focus on Carolyn. “Really?”

“I don’t see that you have many options, Eve.”

Eve tugged at her shirt collar. 

“Expenses?” Villanelle asked.

“I recently became aware that you have over a hundred thousand euros in cash,” Carolyn said.

“Yes but I earned that,” Villanelle said. 

“We’ll reimburse you. It’s… convenient… that you have gathered some difficult to trace bills.”

“I see.” Villanelle smiled politely.

Eve rubbed her temple. She tried to count how many days it had been since she and Villanelle left for Rome. Then, the promise of working together had been tempting, the mission to screw over Peel appealing. And now she and Villanelle…

“Surely, I’m a liability,” Eve said.

“You’re required,” Villanelle said.

Carolyn gestured at Villanelle. “This is how it is.”

“I’m just going to head to the bathroom,” Eve said. 

She ran for the bathroom at the other end of the restaurant, locked herself in a stall, and waited for the screaming part of her and the throwing up part of her to make peace with the next phase of her short life.

Kept waiting.

***

Eve tossed another shirt haphazardly into a suitcase. She’d come to her flat to gather stuff for the trip and to put stuff in the command center office. Her laptop, her ancient CD collection, her binders of notes on female serial killers.

Elena was watching her, warily, while also paying attention to her phone. There was a security officer outside. He had checked for bugs and cameras, but found none.

Eve found her best pair of mom jeans in the closet, and balled it up and shoved it into a garbage bag. More for the charity. She was consciously tuned into what Villanelle would want her to wear. 

When exhaustion from her frantic sorting forced her to pause, she sat on the bed and frowned at Elena. “What’s it like, having someone you know be your security charge instead of some stranger?”

Elena lowered her phone, and considered. “It definitely makes my job harder. I feel like, because I know you, I know you won’t always follow protocol unless I’m a real asshole about it. And I worry. Because it’s not just you, I like, also know the elements trying to get at you, to kill you. Whereas before those were like, figments.”

Eve nodded. “I can see that. Sorry if I’ve been a jerk about it.”

“At least you’re not sneaking _out_ of the building to see your lover.” Elena smirked.

“True. And she somehow hasn’t managed to flip any alarms yet, either. I’m sure it would only be a matter of time if we were staying.”

“Where are you going?” Elena asked. 

Eve shook her head.

“Okay.” Elena shrugged.

Eve took a breath. “All that time we were helping people, people who were in real danger, it was just a game to me. I never put myself in their place. I never thought about how scared they were. About what was happening to them. I just wanted to be… efficient.”

“You were efficient.”

“Thanks. But Kasia Molkovska… I had to fucking look up her name when I got back to London. All she was to me was a tool for Villanelle. And she was bait. And I was _excited_ by that.”

Elena studied her, and then said, “At least you know that now. You know yourself better. That will help you know others better.”

“I hope so. I don’t know whether my life now is a failure or my life before was. But I’m doing important work. I think. I’m still helping. Or maybe I’m just justifying murder to myself.”

“Murder?”

Eve pressed her lips together.

“Don’t--” Elena came to her, put her hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Don’t die. Losing Bill was devastating. Losing Frank...scary as hell. I had to leave the goddamn job over it. Don’t.”

“If I had any reason to come back, it’s you.” Eve covered Elena’s hand. “Everyone else is a complete stranger.”

“You sometimes are, too. But you have a good--” Elena hesitated.

_Heart?_

“Head on your shoulders,” Elena finished.

Eve thought of scurrying through the streets of Rome in a maid’s outfit. “Well, I’m doing my best. Once again, my only job is to keep someone else out of trouble.”

Elena grinned. “Your hardest job yet.”

“No kidding.” Eve got up. “Okay, one more hour and my life will be sorted. Do you want to see if Niko left any beer in the fridge?”

Elena saluted with her phone. “On it.”

***

Hugo was back in the office, wincing as he swiveled in his chair. His wink looked more like a tic of pain. 

Eve had thought about picking up doner for him on the way back from her place. But hadn’t. So she ordered it delivered to their secret spy building. She was pretty sure it would stink up the whole room. She was pleased about that.

“You’re looking particularly evil today,” Hugo said, as Eve took a swivel seat near him.

Kenny was intent on his laptop, and Jess was shouting into the phone.

“I had beer for lunch. And a long talk with Elena.”

“And what have we learned about ourselves, eh?”

“Apparently I like sex an am not emotionally available.”

“I could have told you that. And Villanelle?”

“Oh yeah, she’s way better at sex and way worse at feelings.”

Hugo grinned. 

A security guard brought in three huge paper bags. “This office ordered takeaway?”

Eve got up. “That’s us.” She took the bags.

Jess hung up the phone. “If there’s not enough for the rest of us, I’m going to tell Villanelle you think she’s ugly.”

“There’s enough, there’s enough.”

Kenny came over and looked forlornly at the bag. “Mom said I need to eat more salads.”

“You don’t have to tell her.”

Kenny considered. “Only if there’s kafka.”

“Calling the falafel,” Eve said. 

“Well, you were just in France and Italy,” Jess said. “Did you eat well there?”

Eve remembered blood pouring from Aaron’s throat. “I just remember the drinking.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” said Hugo.

“In fact,” Eve said. “Maybe when I come back, and Villanelle is… busy… we should go to the 5th floor and drink all the fancy diplomat stuff they stock the room with.”

“Yes, please,” Hugo said.

“I hate you all,” Jess said, rubbing her stomach.

Kenny said, “I’d love to have a mission that ended in a way we could celebrate.”

That sobered everyone up, and they took their food and went back to their desks, and Eve tried not to feel entirely responsible.


	14. Blackpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romantic beach interlude.

Villanelle and Eve had once again been tasked with buying a car, but this time Carolyn gave them a list of criteria. They ended up with a Toyota Rav4 for 25,000 euros from a place that would deal in euros, deal in cash, and take a bribe.

Kenny took care of registration, and somewhere someone authorized it as a government vehicle, which would keep it from being flagged by police.

“Within reason,” Carolyn stressed.

Villanelle shrugged. “I do not want to get caught by a constable with a car full of guns and drugs, either.”

“Drugs?” Eve asked, as she flipped through the fake paperwork.

“For poisoning, Eve. Do you now know anything about how women kill?”

Eve smirked. “I know _Why Women Kill_.”

“Me too. I used that to study. Taylor is definitely my favorite character,” Villanelle said. 

Carolyn shook her head. “Speaking of the mission. I’m sure by now Kenny’s told you the most efficient way to go about this list. Remember, we’ll have other agents on each target so that if they run for it, they won’t get too far. But it would be...expedient… if they didn’t.”

“Expedient,” Villanelle mocked.

“This is a nasty business,” Eve said.

“It’s almost as if television lies,” Carolyn said.

“Your only job is to keep me happy. Sweetie.” Villanelle crooned.

“Luckily, I do that just by existing, right?” Eve said.

Villanelle grinned. 

“I know how things go,” Carolyn started. “So I’m only going to say this once. Any extracurricular bodies make our jobs harder, make the country look bad, and destabilize both our mission and the precarious political situation from Dublin to Moscow. Understand?”

Eve nodded.

Villanelle shot a finger-gun at Carolyn, and winked.

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “Happy driving.” She closed her briefcase, got up, and left the two of them in the garage office together.

“Should we go?” Villanelle asked.

“How far can we get before midnight?” Eve asked.

Villanelle studied her phone. “Blackpool. That’ll give us the morning to get into position in Glasgow.”

“Not Liverpool? Villanelle, this isn’t another fun road trip vacation.”

“I want to see the sea before I die,” Villanelle said.

Eve exhaled. “I think we’d be remembered more at an inn than at an anonymous hotel in Liverpool.”

Villanelle made a disgusted face.

“Point taken. Fine. Let’s just start driving.”

“_I _will.”

***

They sat in London traffic as dusk fell. Villanelle huffed. Eve scrolled through her phone. “There’s an adhesives trade conference in Blackpool this weekend.”

“What’s adhesive?”

“Sticky stuff. Like, uh, tape. And glue.”

“Do you think they’ll have samples?” Villanelle asked.

“I… probably.”

“Noted. Go on.”

“And a seaman’s union meeting,” Eve said.

Villanelle snickered.

Eve rolled her eyes. “Oh, it says here that Blackpool is the gay capital of the North. Did you know that?”

“I did not. But I am happy with that information.”

_Me too_. Eve shook her head. Blackpool at midnight wouldn’t be the same thing as exposing her confused sexuality in a gay pride parade, but she felt both an interloper and a fraud. She chewed on her lip.

“It’s okay,” Villanelle said. “I am teaching you to be gay.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Villanelle patted her leg. “Let’s play a game. This traffic is making me annoyed.”

“Um, I spy something that starts with C?”

“Yes, Eve. There are cars.”

“Hey, at least Carolyn’s not making us take the rail to Glasgow.”

“Yes, because murder-by-train is so efficient. I mean, _expedient._”

“Worked for Agatha Christie,” Eve muttered.

“I am going to put on some very loud music now,” Villanelle said.

Eve leaned back and closed her eyes. “Thank fucking God.”

***

The traffic never relented, and they arrived at one in the morning, exhausted to the point of shattering. Villanelle parked the car at the place they’d made their reservation by phone (all cash, all the time). She rolled down the windows so they could smell the oily, salty Irish Sea. Then they slumped in the car, not speaking, listening to the night sounds. Traffic, water, and a row of pubs strung with party lights.

“Shall we get a drink?” Villanelle suggested.

Eve kept her eyes closed. “I am in a bad mood.”

“Humanity has not been at its best, I agree.” Villanelle grabbed binoculars from the bag behind her seat, and peered toward the seawall.

“What do you see?” Eve asked, shifting around, trying to take an interest in their surroundings.

“Black,” Villanelle said.

“I guess we don’t have the fancy night-vision goggles.”

“A pity.” Villanelle said. She set down the goggles. “Let’s go look at the water.”

“What? Now?”

“Are you busy?” 

“No.” Eve sighed and they both got out of the car.

Villanelle skulked toward the path to the beach. The area was poorly lit, but they could navigate without using the flashlights on their phones. Dark shadows moved along the beach past the seawall. Laughter occasionally pierced the air. Eve caught a whiff of pot.

The night was unusually clear and a crescent moon shone above them. 

Villanelle reached for her hand as they stepped onto the sand. Eve took it.

“I want to take off my shoes,” Villanelle said.

“There are probably needles. And glass. And crabs and things.”

“Mm,” Villanelle replied.

They strolled slowly toward the water. The fog of exhaustion was lifting. Eve became aware of Villanelle’s warmth beside her. She leaned into it. Villanelle shifted to wrap her arm around Eve’s shoulders instead, and whispered, “Romantic,” into her hair.

Eve responded by hugging Villanelle’s waist. 

“Just two homos on a beach,” Villanelle said. “That’s one thing Paris lacked.”

“But you had the Seine,” Eve said.

“True. But there is something magical about this,” Villanelle said.

“When’s the first time you saw the sea?”

“When I was first starting with Konstantin, we went to Odesa. You know, in Ukraine. I saw the Baltic Sea there. And then Sevastopol. Then back to Bulgaria. It was small-time work, then. Working for oligarchs, getting noticed by people higher up. Then when Konstantin had the chance to split for Europe, he took me with him, and my very first Twelve mission was in Portugal. It was beautiful.”

Eve squeezed her waist.

Villanelle sighed. She turned in Eve’s arms, and settled herself over Eve’s shoulders. “This is very romantic.”

“I agree.”

“Like everything was made just for us.”

“What are the odds,” Eve said. They were not people the universe would bend for.

“Astronomical.” Villanelle glanced at the night sky, and then back at Eve, and smiled.

Eve drew her close and kissed her. She closed her eyes as Villanelle’s lips pressed hers. The kiss was slow and sweet. A promise between them. A connection. Eve thought of princesses and princes on animated moonlight nights. She tilted Villanelle’s head toward her and opened her mouth, letting Villanelle slip between her lips. 

Villanelle took what she wanted, was gentle in non-compromise, tender in insistence. She deepened the kiss until Eve breathed in gasps through her nose, but Villanelle never got rougher, or harder. She just offered what she had always offered. 

When they broke apart, Eve pressed her cheek to Villanelle’s, unwilling to let her go to far away. “Say it again,” she said against Villanelle’s ear.

“I love you.”

_You’re not capable of love_. 

“I love you, too.”

_Neither am I._

“Let’s just run away,” Villanelle said. 

“We can’t.”

“But--”

Eve stepped back and took Villanelle’s hands, squeezing them between their bodies. “If the country isn’t safe, the world isn’t safe, then neither are we. I know you know what that feels like.”

Villanelle’s expression went far away for a moment, and then returned. “I know it is true.”

“Why have fantasies when we have a moonlit beach?” Eve asked.

Villanelle laughed. “Okay, okay.” She freed her hands in order to cup Eve’s face, and kissed her again, melting into her. 


	15. One Down

Glasgow. The weather was still clear and sunny and the city basked in the light, inviting them into its prospering economy, it’s edgy art scene. Eve found it much more suitable a place for _Outlander_ tourist tours than murder. It was hard to picture Glasgow as a target for terrorism, here in Scotland, with confident people and clean streets. 

Villanelle sipped a latte and poked at a laptop. They’d settled into the window seat of a cafe with vegan muffins and a gay flag in the window. 

Eve, in contrast to her partner, was trying _not_ to think about their upcoming mission. 

“You’re making that face,” Villanelle said. “The one where your mind works way too fast.”

“I’m thinking about privilege. I’ve never had to worry about… car bombs.”

“Or the SVR, or the GRU.”

“Right.”

Villanelle gazed intently at her screen. “In South Africa, they have electric fences with barbed wire everywhere. And cameras. Very hard to assassinate someone there.”

“Noted. Does Glasgow have the same CCTV coverage as London?”

“Enough,” Villanelle said. She took a bite of her carrot muffin, cringed, and went back to scrolling.

“Do we have a plan?”

“We’re making a plan,” Villanelle said, and then swallowed. 

“Can I help?”

“I don’t think that’s your skill-set,” Villanelle said. “You make targets, I make plans.”

Eve shrugged her shoulders, and then went back to the file on her phone. Their first target was Lucas De Vries, head of IT for the Scottish Assembly. He knew where all the bytes were buried. He was divorced and had two kids he saw once a week. Eve studied their pictures. She hoped he was a terrible dad. 

Despite spy movies, Eve knew there wasn’t any encrypted flash drive that Villanelle would put into the government computers to unlock all of De Vries’ secrets. His secrets would stay hidden. Just, hopefully, neutered. They had to make sure De Vries was missing for a few days. Making his death public would set off a chain of events that would destabilize Operation Sunburn. 

Villanelle had said that he was the wheel of a bicycle, and after him, the spokes would all be in danger and without protection.

“So where’s this going to be? His house? His office? Commuting? Maybe some secret fetish club?”

“His social media says he’s going to a rugby match. We’ll do it there.”

“Won’t that be conspicuous?”

“In precisely the wrong way. Or do you not remember the politician I killed? Only you figured out it was me. And there are no more ‘you’s.”

“That’s...a scary thought.” Only Eve’s team knew Villanelle existed. And Konstantin. And the bad guys. But the general population, passing by the cafe window, had no idea.

“It is helpful,” Villanelle said. “Are you ready to go?” She closed the laptop.

“Where?”

“We have to buy Rugby Jerseys. And hats. Hats are great disguises.”

“You would know.”

Villanelle smirked at Eve. “I do know. Do you want the rest of my muffin?”

Eve had lost her appetite after seeing the picture of De Vries’ children. “No, I’m good.”

“Good.”

***

“May the competitors you prefer best their opposing equivalents:

So you can somehow feel connected to the feat of your self-appointed constituents”

  * Garfunkel and Oates

Eve studied her weather app carefully. 19 C. Pleasant. She’d stopped converting to Fahrenheit years ago, but her body still had a little twitch every time she looked at a temperature on her phone. 19 seemed so low. 

Villanelle, jammed next to her in the narrow seats, elbowed her. “What is so exciting on your phone?”

“I’m just checking the weather.”

“It’s beautiful. Do not curse it.”

“It’s just...a thing I do.”

Villanelle tossed popcorn into her mouth, and then said, while chewing, “Weirdo.”

“Are we reaching the old married stage of our relationship already?” Eve asked.

“We haven’t tried to kill each other in like, a week.”

“As long as sex doesn’t count.”

“Right. As long as sex doesn’t count,” Villanelle said. “Which it does not, because I am amazing at it.”

“You are.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Kill Commander.”

Eve sank down in her seat and whispered, “Could you not call me that when we’re about to do murder?”

“Fine. Hot stuff.”

“Jesus.”

Rugby rugbied. Eve had tried to memorize the rules on the Uber over to the match, but had not gotten far. She’d watched rugby on television, but only with someone who could explain what was going on. She wondered what Niko was doing. Villanelle assured her it didn’t matter. But Eve felt surrounded by chaos.

Villanelle held opera glasses to her nose. “There’s our target. There’s only one exit he can use to go to the bathroom. I should go scope it out.”

“And I do what?”

“Keep my seat warm?” Villanelle winked.

“What if you need help?”

“I think two people on the CCTV will look more obvious than one,” Villanelle said.

“I disagree. I think two lesbians eating ice cream at a stand is better than one assassin lurking behind a staircase.”

Villanelle frowned. “Maybe you are right.”

Eve studied her. “...You just want to make out with me, don’t you?”

“While eating ice cream? Absolutely.” Villanelle grinned. “Let’s go.”

They walked around the perimeter of the stadium until they got to De Vries’ entrance. Eve went through and verified that he was still in his seat. Without his kids. He had another, darker-skinned man with him. They were chatting away, not paying attention to the game.

Eve joined Villanelle by the swag cart. “Do you know who’s with him?”

“Patrick, er, something. Social Media guy at the government thing.”

“Probably not a member of the Twelve.”

“No. I think just a nerd.”

“No need to disparage him,” Eve said.

Villanelle snorted. 

“What if never has to pee? Or get a snack?”

“Then we’ll get him on the way out. Might even be easier. Guide him toward his car, and then whoops, into ours.”

“Whoops.”

“Eve.”

“Fine.” Eve took Villanelle’s elbow. “Make it look convincing.”

Villanelle smacked her lips against Eve’s in what was possibly the worst kiss of Eve’s life. The noise Villanelle made with her mouth was loud and attention-getting, and she missed Eve’s lips, landing instead on her nose and cheek.

“Gah--”

Villanelle bent her head and blew across Eve’s neck, tickling her. Eve attempted to squirm away. She pushed at Villanelle’s stomach, but was unsuccessful. Villanelle bit her shoulder.

“You are the worst,” Eve said, laughing despite herself.

“I’ve never had a partner. That I liked, anyway. Or that I even trusted.”

“Or trusted you.”

“I guess I did kill… all of them? But that was mostly about making a point to my boss.”

“What point was that?”

“That I like who I like.” Villanelle kissed her on the temple, gently, and then inhaled against her hair. “And I get what I want.”

Eve was warmed through by that. She embraced Villanelle, who held onto her briefly, looking over her shoulder. “Lucas is on the move.”

Villanelle took Eve’s hand, swinging it in exaggerated fashion to and fro, and followed Lucas. He went, predictably, into the men’s room, and Villanelle and Eve crowded the door, so that men coming out had to push past them.

When Lucas came out, Eve caught him by the arm, and said, “Oh, sorry, excuse me.”

He turned his attention to her, confused, and Villanelle jabbed him in the shoulder with a needle.

“Ouch.” Lucas winced, turning around, but Villanelle had completely disappeared from sight.

“What happened?” Eve asked. “You okay?”

“I think I got stung by a bee, or something. It was weird. Ah, Christ, my whole shoulder hurts.”

Eve took his arm. “Maybe let’s get some ice.”

“Yeah, okay, mate.” He followed her toward the snow cone stand, and stumbled. 

Villanelle was suddenly at his other side. “Hey, man. We’ve got you.”

“Maybe I’m allergic to bees,” Lucas said.

“We’ll get you to the first aid tent.”

“Thanks, ladies. If you hadn’t been there…” Lucas’s head lolled onto his chest.

They walked him partially around the ring, and then through a roped off exit. The alarm went off, but when the door closed, it shut off again. They went through a neighborhood, both straining from holding him up, and then past that, into what looked like apartment buildings on a green. 

“What’s this?” Eve asked.

“Old folk’s community I found on Google Maps. We can stash him in the boiler room. No one will find him for weeks.”

“Ew?”

The door to the first building they came across was locked and secured. Villanelle huffed, walked into the bushes, and found a basement entrance down a flight of steps. Villanelle pushed Lucas down the stairs. He fell face-first, hit his head, and then slid down the last few. She followed, somewhat gleefully. Eve trudged after.

“What if this one’s locked, too?”

Villanelle yanked on the door handle. Then she surveyed, reached above the doorstop, and produced a key. “Viola.”

“What the hell.”

Villanelle laughed. “I am just showing off. I stole maintenance’s keys this afternoon when you were napping.”

“I was tired!”

“I know. After all the sex. You are a bad spy _and_ a bad assassin.”

“We’ll still be on camera all over the place.” 

“Not here. And we have our hats. And we are two women. You were right. The Twelve will be looking for just one. If they are at all. Otherwise, we are prostitutes.”

“Classy.”

“Blame society, not me,” Villanelle said. Villanelle yanked open the door and dragged Lucas’s prone form through it. 

The basement was filled with unidentifiable industrial equipment, and smelled like dampness and roaches. Villanelle dragged Lucas to a storage area in the back, with a simple Master Lock she picked. There were bicycles and storage boxes and a lot of Afghan blankets. She put Lucas in the back.

“Don’t look,” she said.

“What?”

Villanelle picked a pipe up from the floor and moved behind some boxes. “Don’t look.”

Eve turned away, noticing that they’d left the door open.

A thud sounded, and then a groan, and then a harder thwack. Then deathly silence. 

Eve turned around. Villanelle grabbed some blankets and tossed them over Lucas. “There we go.”

“One down,” Eve said.

Villanelle wiped her prints off the pipe and tossed it on the floor. “Are you going to throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you going to jump my bones?”

Eve smiled. “Let’s just go.”

“Okay. We have a long walk ahead of us, you know.”

“Good. I could use one.”

They left the storage room, Villanelle tossing the keys. They climbed the steps. 

Eve checked her phone. “It’s only 8 PM.”

“Let’s find a bar.”

“God, let’s.”

***

“You’re not drinking,” Eve said, as she prepared to down her second tequila shot. The Glasgow gay cocktail bar was full of friendly indifference.

Villanelle sprinkled salt on her wrist, and then added a squirt of lime juice. “I am your designated...person. Keeper.”

Eve nodded. “I would have thought you more… extreme when it comes to drug use.”

“I was, once. Go ahead.”

Eve downed the shot, grabbed Villanelle’s wrist, and licked off the salt. Then she leaned back in her chair and gazed at Villanelle with cloudy eyes.

“I did not like it. I did not like being out of control. Oblivion. It is not who I am.”

“Funny. I’ve definitely been known to lose my shit at the bar.”

Villanelle grinned. “That, I can imagine.” She raised one finger to the barmaid.

Another tequila shot appeared. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m going to puke all this up later,” Eve said.

“I do not mind. I will hold your hair.”

“You’re sweet.” Eve patted Villanelle’s cheek. 

“Before you take the third one, did you report in about our activities?”

“I texted Kenny, yes. From the burner we bought yesterday.”

VIllanelle nodded. “Good. Drink away.” She picked up the salt shaker.

“Wait. Put it on your lips.”

“Eve.” Villanelle pretended modesty. “We’re in public.”

“We’re surrounded by men who aren’t going to be turned on by us,” Eve said.

“It is refreshing,” Villanelle agreed. She eyed Eve, and then dabbed some salt onto her lips. Then she took a lime wedge between her teeth, and sucked.

Eve sipped the shot, slowly, for maximum burn, and then covered Villanelle’s mouth with hers, tasting salt, and then lime, tangling her tongue with the fruit and Villanelle’s tongue. 

“Thank you,” she said, when she settled back down.

“Mm?” 

“For killing him humanely.”

Villanelle sipped her champagne. “Well, I did not need to impress you this time.”

Eve wanted to protest that sadism was never the answer, but then she remembered Villanelle taking her, leaving her with still-healing marks on her skin. She simply shrugged her shoulders. “I think that’s enough tequila for me.”

“Do you want to dance?”

“In a minute. Let me just sit here, looking at you, without anything else going on.”

Villanelle grinned, and propped her chin on her hand, and gazed deeply into Eve’s eyes.


	16. Light Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Villanelle was tied to a chair, but she still looked pleased with herself, smirking at Eve, who had gotten her tied up, and had gotten seriously turned on, and then not quite known what to do. 

“Problem, Eve?”

“I don’t know where to start. I mean, I know where to end. But getting from point A to point B…”

Eve was jazzed after Lucas De Vries. Now it was 2 AM, and she showed no sign of sleeping, even though they had to stay in Glasgow another night. Two more kills the next day. Double-tap. Eve clicked her tongue.

What do lovers do with no appointments until the next day, and are high on life from a fresh kill? They spend nearly 500 pounds on sex toys at the best store in Glasgow, and walk over two miles home, swinging their bags proudly.

Villanelle had helpfully instructed Eve in how to put mittens on her hands, and then duct tape them to her wrists, and then handcuff her to the chair. And ankle-cuff her. And Villanelle, also helpfully, was not laughing at her.

Eve had bought a crop, because she couldn’t bring herself to wield a knife.

Villanelle was fully clothed in skin-tight pants and a cropped vinyl vest. “Should have undressed me before you tied me up.”

“No,” Eve said. “I like this better.” She stepped close, tugging at the collar of Villanelle’s shirt.

Villanelle gnashed teeth at her.

Eve stepped away and Villanelle lunged forward, scooting the chair a foot. She strained against her bonds.

Eve was not foolish enough to think Villanelle couldn’t free herself. Or that Eve was safe from her. But that was part of the game, right? Edging the precipice of danger. Pushing Villanelle past her constraints, past her mask.

Past Eve’s. 

“Stop,” Eve said.

Villanelle narrowed her eyes.

Eve circled behind Villanelle and cupped the back of her head. Villanelle’s hair was in a bun, and Eve pulled it loose, letting the hair cascade through her fingers.

“It will get in my way,” Villanelle complained. “In my mouth.”

“It’s only fair,” Eve said, massaging Villanelle’s scalp. 

Villanelle grunted, but said nothing.

They’d agreed, whatever the ferocity, to keep it quiet. Don’t wake the neighbors with loud sex noises. Don’t attract attention. Don’t attract the cops. 

Villanelle had the self-control for it. Eve would probably have to be gagged when she came.

The thought echoed the throb between her legs. She moved in front of Villanelle again. Villanelle yanked against the handcuffs, but was otherwise complacent. Her expression held fury.

Eve knelt and unbuttoned Villanelle’s vest.

“You can just tear it off,” Villanelle said.

“That’s not the game.”

“What’s the game? What are the rules? Why are you in charge, Eve?” Villanelle asked.

Eve ignored her and spread the vest outward, off Villanelle’s bare breasts. Eve cupped them, and then pushed the vest off Villanelle’s shoulders, further trapping her arms. Making her uncomfortable. Eve smiled.

“I want to see something,” Eve said. She got the crop, tapped her own thigh with it.

Villanelle eyed her. “I can take a beating.”

“I’m not going to beat you, Villanelle. I’m going to make love to you.”

Villanelle huffed, and remained tensed.

The crop required more dexterity than Eve could wield, so she started with Villanelle’s shoulder, as if knighting her. There she paused, and took a deep breath. Then she slid the tip of the crop to Villanelle’s collar bone.

Villanelle rolled her eyes and looked disinterested, but her nipples were diamonds. 

“When’s the last time someone did this to you?” Eve asked. She pressed the crop to the side of Villanelle’s breast, where she could get leverage.

“You think I would allow anyone to do this,” Villanelle hissed. “Not even Anna. I held the knife, then.”

Wetness surged between Eve’s legs. “We’re just playing.”

“I can’t move, Eve,” Villanelle said.

Eve dragged the crop at an angle across Villanelle’s left nipple. Then she slapped the crop against Villanelle’s breast, managing to strike the aureola. 

Villanelle gasped.

Aroused by the sound, Eve wanted to hit her again and again and again. She squared her shoulders and tapped the crop against the other breast. 

Villanelle hissed. “Eve. Are you fucking me or teasing me?” 

“I’m learning. Learning all about you.” Eve knelt and made eye contact.

Villanelle’s smile was gone, but she met Eve’s gaze evenly, trying to bore into her soul the way Eve was seeking Villanelle’s. 

Eve moved the crop to Villanelle’s belly. Poked it.

“Eve, you are killing me.”

Eve stood. Took off her sweater. Wished she had bought performance clothes the way Villanelle had. Dressed the part. She had never given thought to her clothing before Villanelle, and now it took up a major part of her brain power. 

She didn’t want to be naked in front of Villanelle, but she wanted to be comfortable. 

“The things I want to do to you, Eve,” Villanelle said.

Each time Villanelle said her name stabbed into her chest, her head, her loins.

Eve set the crop on a table, and then moved back to Villanelle. “You want to be naked.”

“I would prefer it, yes.” Villanelle mock scowled.

Eve went to work on Villanelle’s fly. The pants were tight, which made yanking open the top button difficult. But she managed, with Villanelle fighting the bonds and growling and squirming her hips, making it hard for her.

Once the button was open, getting the zipper down was easy. Then Eve gripped the sides of Villanelle’s pants and yanked them down, leaving them bunched around Villanelle’s calves. Villanelle wore no underwear.

“That’s better,” Eve said.

“The idea that you’re in control is laughable,” Villanelle said.

“I don’t care.”

Eve put her head in Villanelle’s lap and inhaled. The sharp arousal was now familiar and made her mouth water. 

This is how she’d hoped to deal with Villanelle in the first place. Safe, like in a zoo. Chained. Neutered. Harmless. Even though Villanelle now was none of those things. Instead she’d gotten Villanelle chasing her into her bathroom, making demands, using her dress on a corpse. How far they’d come.

Eve kissed Villanelle’s knee. Then pushed her legs apart and kissed her inner thigh.

“Eve…”

“I wish you could touch me,” Eve said. 

Villanelle yanked against her bonds.

Eve got the crop again and pressed it between Villanelle’s legs. Villanelle squirmed. 

“Will you fall apart for me?” Eve asked.

“Do you mean, will I let you destroy me?” 

“Yes.”

“Eve…”

Eve slapped Villanelle’s breast with the crop. And then again. And again. Until she hit hard enough to leave a red mark that quickly faded. She dropped the crop and knelt in front of Villanelle and grabbed her face in two hands and kissed her. She drove her tongue into Villanelle’s mouth, meeting only welcoming, tender caresses from Villanelle. She dug her fingers into Villanelle’s jaw. She bit into Villanelle’s lower lip. “Please,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to ask for anything. Just take.”

Eve yanked apart Villanelle’s thighs and buried her face between them. Even full spread, it was hard to reach Villanelle’s center with her tongue. She settled for inner thighs, biting and stroking, and listening to Villanelle hiss and groan and cajole, but never too loud, never too much.

Then she added her fingers, slipping into Villanelle until the webs of her fingers burned. Villanelle thrusted, trying to impale herself on Eve’s fingers. She begged, with words and gestures. 

Eve shoved her face into Villanelle’s center, until her tongue reached her clit. She lapped her fill, emboldened by Villanelle’s taste, by the arousal that Eve had brought, better than the killing, better than the hunt. Connection.

“More, Eve,” Villanelle demanded.

Eve added a third finger, and used her teeth on Villanelle, prompting the first scream, quickly swallowed.

“Give me everything,” Eve demanded, between kisses and licks, between thrusts, and Villanelle was rocking the chair, pleading, and Eve felt like she could come just from Villanelle’s hips against her cheeks.

Villanelle came, shuddering, gasping short breaths, the chair bumping against the floor. Thud thud thud.

Eve lifted her face. Smiled. Kissed Villanelle soundly.

“Eve,” Villanelle said.

Eve cupped her cheek. Kissed her lips. Let Villanelle drink her in.

“Let me fuck you,” Villanelle said.

“No. You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

Eve stood, and opened her own slacks, and slipped her hand under her underwear. She stared at Villanelle, who was ravished, covered in red blotches, purring in satisfaction. Eve only regretted there weren’t more crop marks. She pleasured herself, making Villanelle watch, making Villanelle stay away.

When she came, it was looking into Villanelle’s eyes, the connection between them eternal. 

“Untie me, Eve. I’m tired of games.”

Eve obliged, cutting through the tape with a utility knife, ungloving Villanelle.

“I want to fall asleep with you,” Villanelle said.

“Me too.”

They fell into bed, half-naked, half-dressed, exhausted from a day of killing and fucking. With more ahead of them.


	17. Two at Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder, then lots of downtime.

Brian Chase and Dave Zachary were a double-kill, due to scheduling, but conveniently, Villanelle and Eve found them in bed together above a Chinese restaurant in Glasgow.

Inconveniently, because they were enforcers, and fought back well against Villanelle. Eve, who’d stayed outside the bedroom door, was lured in by Villanelle showing “Eve, Eve! Get in here.”

Eve had the presence of mind to pull out her gun before entering, holding it straight out in front of her like a television detective. Villanelle had one guy pinned to the wall, strangling him, but the other was grabbing at her shoulder.

“Shoot him!” Villanelle shouted.

“Won’t that be loud?”

“It’s fine.”

“We’re supposed to be stealthy.”

“For God’s sake, Eve.”

“Okay.” Eve’s gun wavered. “Uh, which one?”

“The one behind me. I have the one in front of me pretty well handled, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Eve pointed the gun at the appropriate person. Dave, by his blond hair, and not the brunette, Brian. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

“Just shoot,” Villanelle said.

Eve pulled the trigger, yelped, and yanked back the gun at the same time. 

Dave staggered to the floor, his shoulder bleeding. 

Brian threw Villanelle off her, but she tackled him again.

“You have a gun, too, you know,” Eve pointed out, eyeing Dave warily as he slumped on the floor.

“It’s not exactly _accessible_.”

Dave began slinking toward the bed. 

“Shoot him again.”

“Jesus, really?”

“Could you please aim for the chest? Center mass?” Villanelle asked. 

Eve stalked up to Dave, pushed him back with her foot, and aimed the gun at his chest. 

“Please,” he whimpered.

Villanelle twisted Brian around, slamming his head against the wall, and then forcing him to kneel in front of her.

Eve looked away from Dave’s face, focused on his chest, his black tee shirt, his tattooed arms. She fired.

Dave’s body twitched and blood pooled from the chest wound.

Brian whimpered. 

Villanelle went back to strangling him.

“Now what?” Eve asked.

“Hold on… Need him unconscious.”

It was quiet, except for gurgled gasps, and grunts from Villanelle. Eve could hear her own breathing. The gun was heavy in her grip. She lowered her hand to her side. Her palms sweated. Her spine felt hot.

Brian passed out and slumped to the floor.

“Give me your gun,” Villanelle said.

Eve handed it over.

Villanelle wiped it down, and nodded. “We got this in France from the headless guy. It’s perfect.” She put it in Brian’s hand, and then bent it, and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the side of his head. “Two lovers. Murder-suicide. Their controllers won’t suspect.”

“But the strangulation marks. The GSR.”

“Eve. This isn’t CSI. This is two terrorists getting offed in a room covered with sperm. Loss of a good gun, though.”

Eve took pictures, texted them to Kenny. “What now?”

“Want to eat?” Villanelle asked.

“I want a steak.”

***

They ate filet mignon and drank an overpowering Bordeaux, and then bought up all the newspapers, and then ferried into Northern Ireland and drove to Newcastle, once again arriving in the middle of the night and paying all cash at a sea-front, romantic hotel. 

Inside, it was office-work time. Two laptops being fed data from Kenny’s darknet keyword searches. Newspapers marked with highlighters. Twitter and Instagram with a very expensive location package overlaid. 

“This is how you caught me,” Villanelle said, ignoring her laptop and reading an ad for shoes in the Examiner.

“Yes. Well. There were also lots of books.”

“_Books_? Boring.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“But at what cost.”

Eve chuckled. 

“There’s a protest in Dublin about capitalism. In two days. It has some mentions of Lord Faris at Amazon. We should go. Are we going to Dublin?”

“It’s Kenny’s map, but I think so. Maybe a target?”

“It’s what I would do.”

“Eve. You are so sinister.” Villanelle hissed at her.

Eve made a cat claw gesture.

“We’ll sleep tomorrow,” Villanelle said. “Lie low. We can’t show up on CCTV if we’re in here.”

“I could really use a recharge day. Traveling is exhausting.”

“Oh, I know.” Villanelle gave a dramatic sigh. “I could never wait to get back to Paris.”

“What’s your favorite way to travel?”

“Chauffeur.”

“Of course. You?”

“Planes. So efficient.”

“I do not like being trapped.”

Eve nodded. 

Villanelle threw down the paper. “Have we found anything?”

“It’s not about finding things. There’s a lot of data here related to our work. It’s about finding the meaning in them. The predictive analytics.”

Villanelle snored.

“Fine, let’s take a coffee break.”

“A coffee break? You don’t want to stop?” Villanelle paused. “You know something, don’t you.”

“Maybe. I have to think.”

“I am intrigued.”

“Me too. But it’s all just jumbled together. I might have to talk through it outloud. But not yet. First, coffee.”

Villanelle went to the coffee pot in the corner and looked unhappily at the packets of powder. “We should have stopped and gotten some of those coffee-in-a-coke-can things.”

“Yes. Let’s create a shopping list.”

“I’ll create a shopping list, Miss Thinky.”

Eve shrugged.

“And on it, I am putting beer. Is there anything to do in Newcastle?”

“I read the wiki while we were driving. Do you like golf?” Eve asked.

“No, Eve. I do not like golf.” 

“Then no.”

“Okay. We will sleep.”

“You sleep. I’m thinking.”

“Oh right.” Villanelle mimed a yawn. “I will make my list of demands, and then I will sleep, and you will think very quietly.”

“Gotcha,” Eve said.

“Great.” Villanelle wrote on her scrap of paper. “Pretzels.”

***

“I’m not bored,” Villanelle said.

“Hm?” Eve sat against the headboard on the bed, Villanelle’s head in her lap. Eve was scrolling through her phone. A movie played on the little flatscreen TV in the corner.

“I’m not bored. I am… empty. My thoughts are gone. My heart, of course, is empty. My chest… But I’m not bored.”

Eve ran her fingers through Villanelle’s hair.

“What does that mean?” Villanelle asked.

“Mindfulness? Inner peace?”

“Is this how normal people feel?”

Eve laughed. “No. Normal people are anxious. They feel watched. Ashamed of everything. Confused. Usually very angry. Inadequate.”

“Not just… not bored.”

“Right. What movie are we watching?”

“_Rear Window_.”

“Ah.” Eve sat down her phone and paid attention to the screen.

Villanelle sighed and snuggled against Eve’s lap.

“I imagine death so much it feels like a memory…” Eve murmured. 

“What’s that?”

“_‘_Hamilton.’”

“Because I could not stop for Death…”

“He kindly stopped for me. I memorized that in sixth grade.”

“It’s a good poem. But not the best.” Villanelle said.

Eve traced the curve of Villanelle’s ear. “Maybe you could teach me some French poetry sometime.”

“I only learned Russian poetry,” Villanelle said.

“Or that.”

“No, not that.”

“Are you going ever going to tell me why you hate Russia so much?”

Villanelle was rigid. “No. Not today.”

“Okay. American culture it is. Who committed the murder in the movie?”

Villanelle clucked her teeth. “It’s not about that. It’s about the paralyzed man finding agency.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m not sure you’re a good person to watch movies with.”

“I was, you know, working.”

Villanelle scoffed. 

“Go back to inner peace,” Eve said. She squeezed Villanelle’s shoulder. “What are the odds you’ll experience it again?”

“The horses heads were torwards Eternity,” Villanelle murmured.

From the TV came, “Lots of people have knives and saws and ropes around their houses and lots of men don't speak to their wives all day. Lots of wives nag and men hate them and trouble starts. But very very few of them end up in murder if that's what you're thinking.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Eve said. “Is it time for wine?”

“Always,” Villanelle said.

***

The authorities discovered the body of Lucas De Vries. They quickly surmised it was murder and began pulling the CCTV footage from the rugby game. His friend had reported him missing right away, and the appropriate underground networks had taken notice. 

“Our timeline just got pinched,” Eve said, scrolling through the news feed.

“Do we skip the protest?”

“I don’t think so. Kenny says there’s real and verifiable chatter that there’s going to be something there. An attack, a demonstration, who knows. Maybe some pamphlets. Maybe a mass shooting.”

“Very well. I have chosen disguises.”

“Disguises?”

“We are now wanted women.”

“They haven’t released any CCTV stills from Lucas’s killing yet…”

“It is only a matter of time.” Villanelle held up a rainbow clown wig. “I will be wearing this.”

Eve covered her mouth, laughing. “You’ll what?”

“And you, unfortunately, are hard to disguise. How do you feel about body paint?”

“I feel ‘no’ about body paint.”

“Eve, you have a beautiful body.”

“For you, only.”

Villanelle grinned. “Very sweet. But inefficient.”

“We’ll be fine. You can shake your rainbow...thing.”

“The best thing to be is conspicuous. Because a spy would never be conspicuous.”

“Fine. Let’s drive to Dublin.”

***

Before Dublin, while Villanelle was shopping for their groceries and supplies lists, Eve called Elena. And cried. She couldn’t help it. Her body was ejecting something. Maybe the last of its compassion. Its horror. Its humanity. It came out in heaving gulps.

“Eve, Kenny and I have been talking,” Elena said, ever the even-toned administrator. “Are you...participating? In the killings?”

Eve squeaked in pain. “Yes.”

“And that’s…”

“It’s not anything. It just is. It’s just… perfunctory.”

“Eve.”

“I know how it sounds. And I’m in the thick of it. I don’t know what to do.”

“I guess… you can’t get out.”

“It’s either this, or I die. Elena, tell me I’m still a human being.”

“Yes, Eve. And still my friend. All our friend.”

Eve sniffled. “Villanelle will be back soon. She doesn’t understand all this...mess.”

“Where is she?”

“Grocery shopping.”

“You sent Villanelle grocery shopping?”

“Do you think that was a bad idea?” Eve asked.

“Yes!” 

“She’s… doing better.”

“For now. But sooner or later, she’ll turn on you. It’s her nature. She’s the scorpion, Eve.”

_We can’t both be scorpions._

“I hope I get to see you again,” Eve said.

“Me too.”

Eve hung up the phone.

***

“I think we should stop at the border. See the fortifications,” Villanelle said.

“You think they’re preparing? For a total close?”

“I think it’s possible. When will we get a chance?” 

“That’s… rather practical.” Eve said.

“Konstantin called me. He suggested it.”

“Okay, that makes more sense,” Eve said.

Villanelle pouted. “I’m hurt.”

“Sorry, baby,” Eve said. “So is there a…an...undercover way to stop at an international border crossing?”

“Let’s find out.” Villanelle grinned.

“We have seven more people to go before we can just...go off the grid,” Eve said.

“You worry too much.”

“I explained to you about normal people and anxiety, right?”

“Yes, and it sounded _incredibly _stupid.”

Eve frowned. “Fair.”

They piled into the car with wine and beer and snacks and their one remaining gun. And the rainbow wig, some white and green hair dye, body paint, a cricket bat, a tent, heavy blankets, and three pairs of binoculars. 

“I feel like a survivalist,” Eve said.

“A what?”

“Someone who lives in the woods. Off the land. Kills moose and such.”

“Please, Eve. Very distasteful.”

“America has a lot of wilderness.”

“And Europe and Russia are very old. Much too old for that.”

“Good point,” Eve said.

“When you’ve had continuous civilization for 6000 years, you’ll understand,” Villanelle said.

“I said ‘good point,’” Eve complained.

“Be sophisticated.”

“That word has never been in my vocabulary. But I promise I’m learning.”

***

They missed the border and had to turn back. There were no “Welcome to Ireland!” signs along the highway (Eve even said that in her best Irish accent). Only farmland filled their windows, and side streets and one-lane carriage roads. Villanelle turned down one. The car rumbled over broken pavement. 

Eve kept her eye on Google Maps. “I can’t believe there’s nothing here.”

“There must be cameras everywhere.”

Eve glanced out the window. Cows. 

“Imagine if the whole world were like this,” Villanelle said.

A land without borders. Without hate. Just cow fields and quaint white houses and--

“It’d be so much easier to kill people.”

The idyll dissolved. “Right.” 

They passed a couple of men drinking beer and admiring a fence.

“Bet those people know where the border is,” Villanelle said.

“And the tax collectors.” Eve sighed. “This. This is boring.”

“But no one knows where we are. And we aren’t hunting. We are just...existing,” Villanelle said.

_So Villanelle’s funk hadn’t worn off_.

“Do you want to stop near here for the night? Instead of straight on to Dublin?” Eve asked.

“Yes.”

“These are small-ass towns. We’ll be remembered.”

Villanelle smiled--a relaxed, peaceful smile. No mania. “We are memorable.”

Eve began searching through the nearby towns. Villanelle pointed their car back to the main road, which was a two lane highway that wasn’t much more reassuring than the carriage lanes in terms of civilization, but the roadway was smooth and they ambled southward.

“There’s a casino in Bettystown,” Eve reported.

“Bettystown it is.”

Eve let out a little sigh.

“Are you thinking about how irresponsible it is to have casino night when we are supposed to be saving the world?”

“Yes.” But this was Carolyn’s fault.

“And equally worse to be flashing around 50,000 euros to some coked-up mob bosses?”

“I hadn’t considered that part.”

“How long until Bettystown?”

“An hour,” Eve said, hitting the directions function.

“Good. You have time to learn craps.”

“Craps?” Eve asked.

“It’s my favorite game.”

“Okay.” Eve pulled up the wiki page. 

“Eve. I have an important question,” Villanelle said, glancing at Eve and then back at the road.

“What?”

“Have you, Eve Polastri, ever been to a casino?”

“Nope.”

“My God.”

Eve slouched in her seat. She hadn’t done a lot of things in life. Especially risky, financially stupid things. Stupid being the keyword. Stupidly becoming obsessed with murderers, and then fucking them, and then running away with them. Gambling didn’t rank high on the list of moral failings, but it ranked somewhere. Her parents’ voices floated in her head about financial responsibility, about addiction and decay. Better to have done drugs. Or gotten pregnant.

“Craps?” she asked again.

“Yes. It is a group activity. No sitting at the slot machines until we piss ourselves.”

Eve decided her parents had been right. She pulled up the picture that featured on the webpage. _Oh, so that was craps_. The glamourous James Bond (Yes, Eve knows poker was his true game)-type Monaco extravaganza with dice and little black dresses and Cosmopolitans.

“I can’t believe I never went to fucking Monaco,” Eve said.

Villanelle reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. I’m here now. Everything will be better.”

“Villanelle. Can we…” Eve thought it a silly notion. She shook her head.

“What? Fuck in the car?”

“No.”

“Eat at a cafe overlooking the sea?”

“Maybe. Just--”

Villanelle pursed her lips. 

Eve cradled Villanelle’s hand in her two. “Can we buy new clothes? For the casino.”

Villanelle glanced at her. “You have just… moved my heart, Eve.”

“I just want to look like the people do on Wikipedia.”

“Okay. But you do realize it’s a family place in the Dublin suburbs, it might not be Monaco.”

“It will be in my head.”

“I am pleased,” Villanelle said.

“Did you really feel something in your chest?”

“Yes. Like a bee sting.”

Eve drew Villanelle’s hand to her lips. She kissed Villanelle’s healing knuckles. Then she read more about craps.


	18. Bettystown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

They settled in at a foodhall and ate fish and chips and scallops and tiny, artisan sliders. The view from the deck to the sea was indeed lovely, even if they were on the wrong coast for sunset and got to look instead at the gray sky. Eve, after so many days in seaside towns and French villages, wondered at the possibility of living every day like this, like Villanelle did. _She_ could appreciate it. There was just a little murder as payment. 

Villanelle had forbidden alcohol. Better to start the gambling sober, and then work through some cheap, weakly-poured drinks. After a day of travel, and hopefully a night of sex awaiting them after the casino, conserving both energy and sobriety were key.

In that sense, Villanelle lived responsibly. She exercised voraciously, she avoided drugs. Eve’s middle-aged wine habit and Netflix-binging lifestyle could learn a lot. When’s the last time she’d watched Netflix? Was there a new season of _The Crown_ yet? That was research for her job, right?

Eve felt homesick. She lost her appetite for the last slider, and turned her attention to the beach, mostly empty at this time of day.

Villanelle chewed beside her. “Are you thinking too much?”

_Feeling too much_. Eve tried to remember how her flat smelled. She inhaled deeply and got only salt. 

“We will take your mind off things,” Villanelle said. “Casinos are very social. You’ll be able to make some friends that aren’t me.”

“Are you lonely, Villanelle?” Eve turned back from the sea. Villanelle wasn’t looking at her.

“You know what I am, Eve,” Villanelle said.

Eve reached for Villanelle’s hand. “I’m not just here to have a good time.”

Villanelle grinned. “We will face hard times. But we do not have to go looking for them. Not when we have FUNTASIA!”

***

The casino was what Villanelle explained as “cruise ship small” and a little sad, only partially-filled on a weekday night.

“What day is it?” Eve asked.

Villanelle shrugged. She was searching for the bar.

Eve looked at her phone. Wednesday. 

The bar was an ostentatious circle in the middle of upstairs. Eve got her Cosmo on the rocks, and Villanelle ordered something obnoxiously blue. Then they found the sole craps table, worked by three attenders, all South Asian, and being played by three Irishmen in business suits.

The men looked appreciatively at Eve and Villanelle as they walked up, and Eve felt a little charmed as she smoothed down her sequined dress. Villanelle had chosen a pantsuit with big white cuffs and collar, so if that implied they were a couple, well, so they were.

Genteely, the men stopped their play so Villanelle and Eve could exchange a thousand euros each for chips. 

Eve placed her minimum bet on the pass line.

Villanelle rolled her eyes.

One of the men, introducing himself as Harry, tossed the dice. The other two were Richard and Oscar, and they were already boisterous. 

Villanelle cheered along with the men, and then placed three complicated bets down.

Eve nervously took a drink.

Villanelle wrapped an arm around Eve’s shoulders. “Losing money is supposed to be fun. Isn’t that right, Richard?”

Richard nodded. “I’m still giving Harry hell if he hits a seven.”

Harry rolled an eight.

“You didn’t lose,” Villanelle said excitedly.

“Yay?” Eve said.

Harry rolled again.

“Now you lost,” Villanelle said.

The dealer took Eve’s chip.

“How does that feel, baby?” Villanelle asked. “It’s her first time,” she explained to the men.

Harry, Richard, and Oscar looked at Eve expectantly.

“It feels… unfair,” Eve said.

“That’a’girl,” Villanelle said.

The men raised their glasses.

Eve bet the pass line again. 

“Are you ladies American?” Oscar asked.

Only then did Eve realize Villanelle was using Billie’s accent, though she used her Adrian Walker covername.

“Yup,” Villanelle said.

“Born and bred,” Eve confirmed. 

“Good,” Harry said. “That means we don’t have to talk about Brexit.”

“Do you have opinions?” Villanelle asked, her accent slipping a bit.

“Nope,” Harry said.

“Nada,” said Oscar. 

“I’m just a man drinking,” Richard said. 

“Whose turn is it?” Oscar asked.

The dealer pushed the dice toward Villanelle.

Villanelle rubbed her fingers together. “Now we can really begin to play.”

***

Eve lost 200 euros. Villanelle lost 14,000. They walked back to their hotel at midnight.

“That was fun,” Eve said. “But I’m not sure I ever need to do it again.”

“Sometimes a thrill can replace a thrill,” Villanelle said.

Eve was hand-in-hand with Villanelle. She swung their arms.

“But,” Villanelle said. “It is much better since they banned smoking.”

“I can imagine. Although I do like smoking.”

“What?” Villanelle looked askance at Eve.

“Just another thrill,” Eve said, and grinned.

“Smoking, drinking, sex. You are not Miss Innocent.”

“Hey, I did work for an intelligence agency and study psychopaths.”

Villanelle snorted. 

Their hotel was across from the beach, with a view from the window of their second-floor room. Eve had played by Villanelle’s rules and stuck with two drinks. Villanelle had switched to champagne, found it terrible, and mixed it with ginger ale. 

Eve was only half-tired when she kicked off her shoes, took off her coat, and wrapped herself around Villanelle’s neck, kissing her cheek.

Villanelle settled her hands on Eve’s waist. 

Eve kissed Villanelle’s jaw, and then moved down to her neck.

“Are we going to be tender?” Villanelle asked.

“Yes.” 

Villanelle unzipped Eve’s dress and let it sink to the floor. Eve still felt self-conscious when derobed, and slightly cold, but she persevered and brought Villanelle’s lips to hers, tugging on Villanelle’s ponytail.

When she had been thoroughly kissed, she pushed off Villanelle’s jacket and began unbuttoning her vest.

“Do you like my outfit?” Villanelle asked.

“Do you mean do I think it’s an incredible turn-on? Yes,” Eve said.

Villanelle grinned. 

Eve pushed off Villanelle’s vest, and then took her by the shirt-collar and kissed her again, deeply, letting herself swoon under Villanelle’s firm, confident lips. Villanelle backed up until she sat on the bed, and buried her face against Eve’s chest. Eve ran her fingers down Villanelle’s back.

“Can you be undressed now?” Villanelle asked.

“Sure.” Eve said.

Villanelle unclasped her bra and drew it from her shoulders.

Eve resisted the urge to fold her arms. Villanelle, hovering near, pushed down Eve’s panties. 

“You are perfect,” Villanelle said. The lust in her gaze was as familiar as Niko’s, but her wonder was more, as she placed her hand flat on Eve’s chest, and then slowly slid down to her stomach. 

Eve’s nipples were hard, untouched, and they ached to participate. Eve, conceding, pulled Villanelle’s head to her breast. Villanelle’s mouth was instantly upon her, warm, sucking. Eve shuddered as her desire to be near Villanelle only increased. 

Villanelle switched to her other breast, this time biting her nipple before smothering it in kisses.

“God,” Eve said. 

Villanelle was still dressed. With difficulty, Eve pulled back long enough unbutton Villanelle’s shirt. 

“I want you,” Eve said, as if Villanelle couldn’t tell. Her arousal rose between both of them, and she was confident Villanelle’s want was the same for her.

Villanelle gasped as Eve yanked off her shirt, and then unclasped her bra, leaving her topless and exposed to Eve’s hungry gaze. 

“You want me,” Villanelle echoed, heavy-lidded. 

Eve dipped and kissed Villanelle’s shoulder, and then sat beside her on the bed. She knew that if she knelt between Villanelle’s legs, tried to unbutton the pinstriped pants, that she would be consumed by Villanelle, would finish her off before they even started, and she wanted to bask in this, to feel excited and stay caught between pleasure and torment.

Villanelle obligingly kissed her, and they remained in the moment, kissing each other, caressing faces and necks and collarbones, until Eve was thoroughly flushed and Villanelle’s lips swollen. Eve laughed as she broke the kiss, calmer now, after the undressing. 

“Maybe we should get into bed,” Eve said.

“Whatever you like,” Villanelle purred.

Eve, with great aplomb, got up to turn back the sheets, aware of being naked, aware that the hotel pillows were lumpy, the sheets too stiff, the blanket too thin. Villanelle came up behind her and wrapped herself around Eve’s back. Villanelle was fully naked now. Eve could tell as Villanelle’s center pressed against her, warm, with soft hair, as equally soft lips descended on Eve’s neck. 

Eve pulled away, stacking the pillows in the center, and then slipping into bed, pushing the sheets even further away, and then lying on her back, looking at Villanelle. Beckoning.

“This is what I imagined,” Villanelle said. “A thousand times. I Googled naked women that looked like you. I compared. I fantasized.”

Eve was getting used to Villanelle’s ‘too much,’ how it crashed over her in a tsunami wave, pushing her expectations, taking her to an entirely different place than where she’d started.

She was beginning to rise to the occasion. “I dreamed of you.”

“Oh?” Villanelle said. She knelt on the bed, not touching Eve.

“I couldn’t control my dreams. Sometimes you were scary. Sometimes you were far away. Once you were a vampire, but not the sparkling kind. Not the seductive kind. But the animalistic, terrifying kind, like on _True Blood_. A monster coming for me.” Eve took a breath. “I liked it.”

Villanelle bared her teeth.

“But when I woke up, you were gone. And then my memory of the dream would vanish. And I’d have to imagine if you were really like that.”

“Am I?”

“No. You’re real. You’re alive.” Eve pulled Villanelle on top of her. “You’re so much more than a figment of my imagination.”

Villanelle swallowed. “You, too.”

Eve smiled. “Everyone said you’d kill me within a day.”

Villanelle laughed, crouching over Eve. Her knee was between Eve’s thighs. Her hands were next to Eve’s ears. “Even I thought that. Fuck you, kill you, call it a perfect day.”

“This was a perfect day,” Eve said. She pulled Villanelle down for a kiss. Villanelle kissed her bruisingly, driving her tongue into Eve’s mouth, nipping at her lips. Hungry. Hot. Almost burning as she kissed Eve’s cheek and then nose before diving back onto her mouth. But the rest of her, agonizingly, didn’t touch Eve.

Eve bucked up, seeking Villanelle’s hips. She broke away from the kiss. “Don’t tease me.”

“Whatever you want,” Villanelle said. She settled down on top of Eve. Her thigh pressed into Eve’s center, making her moan. Her breasts crushed Eve’s breasts. The hard points of her nipples pressed into Eve’s skin. Eve felt mauled by love. And insatiable.

She raised her hips to meet Villanelle’s. Villanelle kissed her again, demanding, consuming, but it was hard to fuck and breathe and kiss at the same time, and Eve turned her face to the side, letting Villanelle nuzzle her neck, lick at her ear, as they moved together.

The pleasure that had turned sharp as they undressed rose again, and Eve squirmed against Villanelle, seeking not satisfaction but connection. Villanelle’s heat pressed against her leg. She was wanted; desired. Villanelle, the most unlikely lover Eve could imagine, was worshipping her. 

Eve rocked her hips, clutched Villanelle to her. “Please,” she crooned.

“Can I touch you?” Villanelle asked.

“That’s all I want,” Eve said.

Villanelle leaned on her left arm, breaking away from Eve’s face. She moved her right hand between Eve’s legs, finding her soaked and open and greedy.

“God, Eve. I never imagined…”

“You. It’s only you,” Eve said. She ran her fingers down Villanelle’s biceps. Made sure to watch as Villanelle touched her. 

Villanelle slipped inside her, just one finger, curling and stroking and touching. Making Eve buck against her. Beg for more. Then a second finger, with the rest of her her hand, her wrist, against Eve’s clit, and Eve wanted nothing more to surrender to pleasure, to release that tiny part of her that was apprehensive of Villanelle’s touch, was guilty, was judgmental. 

“I wish you could see what I see,” Villanelle said. “No, I wish… You could feel what I feel.”

Eve cupped Villanelle’s cheek, brought her gaze to Eve’s as Villanelle fucked her. “I see everything,” she said. 

Villanelle grinned. “I trust you, too.”

“God. Please. Just a tiny bit… harder.”

Eve gritted her teeth, prepared for the onslaught, and still Villanelle took her with veracity, making sure Eve knew she couldn’t break away, could only surrender to the driving, demanding touch. The surety that Villanelle acted with was always stunning, and Eve, finally, felt glad to surrender to it, to come, to let herself think for a moment that she was put on the earth to feel like this, shattering apart at Villanelle’s touch. 

“You are so beautiful like that,” Villanelle said. “They should put it on a billboard.”

Eve laughed, closing her eyes, letting herself relax. “For what?”

“Perfume, obviously.”

“Makes sense.” She gave Villanelle a shove.

Villanelle rolled onto her back, but kept her eyes on Eve, who settled onto her side. “You’re pretty sexy yourself.”

“It is the Zoomba,” Villanelle said.

Eve placed her hand flat on Villanelle’s belly. “I think it’s the yoga.”

“I am bad at yoga. Too much stillness. And they want you to feel. I just feel like a pretzel.”

Eve chuckled. “Well your abs tell a different story.” She slipped her hand between Villanelle’s legs. “And so does this.” Villanelle was wet, and ripe, and Eve took a moment to admire her selflessness when it came to Eve’s pleasure.

Eve stretched, offering herself to Eve, but keeping her gaze on Eve’s face. “I like sex,” Villanelle said. “But that does not always mean I am ‘there’ for sex. Do you understand?”

Eve thought of Hugo. “I understand.”

“Then fuck me, Eve. I have spent my whole life waiting for someone who understands how to fuck me.”

Eve did.

***

At 4 AM, Villanelle was awake, looking at the sea through their hotel window.

Eve stretched, glanced groggily at the sitting figure. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking about love,” Villanelle replied.

Eve struggled to sit up against the headboard, still sleepy, but pressed her shoulder into Villanelle’s. “Tell me.”

“I felt it, once. When I was 25. When I was killing for Konstantin, but the money was new, and I didn’t know how to spend it, what to do with myself, other than be free. Be free for the first fucking time in my life.”

Eve stayed silent, pressing into Villanelle.

“So I did acid for the first time. Put the little Snoopy on my tongue.” 

“Yeah?” Eve asked.

“It was amazing. Have you ever done LSD?” Villanelle asked.

“No. I think you knew that.”

“You have hidden depths, Eve. But yes. It awakened… parts of me that were born dead. That were defective limbs when I came out of the womb. I saw colors and I felt… it is hard to describe. A warmth, a goodness… I liked people. Liked the people I was with, who I was doing drugs with. I felt…. I felt like, sympathy for them. Compassion for them. I have tried to find the right words for a long time. Like I could see their auras, but their auras were not just colors but living beings that I liked. That I loved. I felt love. For the first time.”

Villanelle took a deep breath. “For the last time, Eve.”

“The last time?”

“I never dropped acid again. Because… Because what if it didn’t work?” Villanelle hugged herself. “I have the memory of love. I know when I think of you, Eve. The memory is there. But if I did it again, and I still felt… hollow… Maybe the memory is a lie.”

Eve drew Villanelle into a hug and pressed her cheek to Villanelle’s hair. “It isn’t a lie. And it doesn’t matter. You are not an aberration, Villanelle. You are just a girl. Just like everyone else.”

Eve didn’t know if she believed what she was telling Villanelle, but she wanted Villanelle to believe it. Wanted those scorching tears Villanelle was leaving on her chest to matter. Wanted Villanelle to know that even drug-induced empathy wasn’t the enemy, that love still existed. Eve believed more than she ever had in her life that love actually existed. She would let Villanelle do the same.

“I love you,” she said to Villanelle.

“I want to love you, too,” Villanelle said, sighing against her heart.


	19. Dublin

Dame Street in Dublin already had thousands of protestors by the time Villanelle and Eve arrived, both in hoodies, with wigs. Signs were everywhere for Brexit, against Brexit, for Climate Change, for Gay Rights, and for some local candidates running for office.

“Not very coordinated,” Eve said.

“People love a good march.” 

“So are we.. waiting to be attacked?”

“We are scouting. It would have been more efficient to come here before the parade, like all of the other instigators and interlopers who came before the parade to find the best angles, the best ambushes… But we did not.”

Eve coughed into her sleeve. 

Villanelle scanned the rooflines.

“Kenny’s got all the cameras going. He’s running facial recognition. Maybe there are already-knowns out here. Or someone important enough to get shot.”

“Probably stabbed. This isn’t America.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Fine. If one of the ten is here, at least, we’ll know.”

“Not yet,” Kenny said into her earpiece. 

“Seven,” Villanelle corrected. “One of the seven.”

“Right.” Eve shrugged. “Let’s blend in.”

“I do not like anonymity.” 

“Maybe you’ll have to cause a scene for some reason,” Eve said.

Villanelle folded her arms. 

They walked up and down Dame Street, and then around each of the four blocks surrounding it, trying to look nondescript and not too friendly. Occasionally someone would hawk food and Villanelle would stray toward them, only to be pulled back. Or someone would ask them to sign a petition. Dawn Park endorsed saving the whales, just as she had done thirty years ago. Adrian Walker signed an anti-Brexit petition “Mickey Mouse.”

People took turns screaming into loudspeakers. 

Eve and Villanelle rejoined the main crowd just as singing began. Eve hummed along with “Do You Hear the People Sing.” 

“Looks like a dud,” Kenny said. “No one here.”

Eve pondered the new information. “Anything else going on in Dublin?”

“Uh. Pantomime… Podcast Festival. A lot of art exhibits, but nothing controversial. Bjork’s coming...Some rugby,” Kenny said.

“Didn’t chatter lead us here?”

“Sure, but it may have been the chatter of the two you offed in Glasgow.”

“Wait a minute,” Villanelle said, suddenly taking an interest. “Are you saying that we--me and Eve--might have actually prevented an attack?”

Kenny paused. “Uh. Maybe.”

Villanelle smirked. 

“Are our next targets in Dublin?” Eve asked. She kept her mouth partially covered, in case someone was observing their conversation. No one seemed to really notice them. 

“Uh. Inverness?”

“What the fuck?” Villanelle asked.

“We’re not going to Inverness,” Eve said.

“Look, they’re in order of priority. I’ll see what I can do. We thought there would be a convergence on Dublin,” Kenny said.

“What about another soft target?” Eve asked.

A woman passing by glanced at Eve askance.

Villanelle snarled at her.

Eve put her hand on Villanelle’s arm. 

“There’s a whiskey festival tomorrow. Everyone’ll be drunk and puking, but they’re also naming the top winner for the year. Might be some strife.”

Villanelle gazed at the sky.

“Great. Just great, Kenny. I doubt terrorists would consider that.”

“No, but there’s the mobster connection. One of the people you met at Funtasia, Richard Thomas? He’s involved.”

Villanelle leaned into Eve’s microphone, even though she was also wired. “I thought Funtasia was run by the Estonians?”

“They’re shareholders, but it’s locally-operated. With some help from the UK and America, of course.”

“But none of the ten--seven--are ‘shareholders’?” Eve asked. “We’re not really here to take down the mob.”

“Heads would roll if we even tried,” Kenny agreed. “But it’s something to do. Your Inverness targets have flights scheduled for Dublin in two days.”

“That’s better than driving up there, _Kenny_,” Villanelle said.

“I get that. Look, go to the whiskey festival, talk to Richard. Protect your cover. He’ll obviously see you as low-level buyers, at least.”

“He has seen my bankroll,” Villanelle said. 

“You couldn’t just be poor,” Eve said.

“I am not poor.”

“Kenny, our timeline seems to be extending. That makes us more vulnerable,” Eve said.

“Brian Chase and Dave Zachary have been found dead, yeah, but it seems like a lover’s quarrel. I planted some fake rumors on the internet. If the Twelve, or the Powers that Be, have made a connection between them and Brian, they don’t seem concerned about it. They’re not talking in their drops about it.”

“Drop?” Villanelle asked.

“Fake email account,” Eve explained.

“How droll.”

Eve looked around. The crowd was thinning. “I think people are leaving,” she said.

“Can we get snow cones, then?” Villanelle asked.

Eve sighed. “Yes. We’ll check in later, Kenny.”

“Good luck.”

They walked to where the snowcone man was closing up his cart. “No kills today,” Villanelle said. “I am getting antsy.”

“Me too. But for a different reason,” Eve said.

“Sugar will help,” Villanelle said.

“I doubt that,” Eve said. But she got a red, white, and blue snowcone anyway. _Viva la France_.


	20. Whiskey Drink

_All the leaves are brown  
_ _And the sky is grey  
_ _I've been for a walk  
_ _On a winter's day_  
_I'd be safe and warm  
_ _If I was in L.A._

  * Michelle Gilliam & John Edmund Andrew Phillips

Eve sat at the desk in their hotel room, counting euros and clipping them into stacks of 1,000. So many euros and nothing to spend them on. She began to understand the existential ennui Villanelle faced in her every-day life. At home, she could put this money in her retirement account. She could splurge on a new recipe. Buy another streaming service.

Then she could go to work and help people—good and bad people—and talk to Elena and Hugo and Jess about inconsequential things. Non-work things. _Game of Thrones_ things.

“Are we watching a movie tonight?” She asked Villanelle.

“Hell, yeah. I will choose.”

“Good.”

Eve made another stack of money. 

Her phone buzzed. Carolyn.

“Hello, Eve. How are you?”

“I’m excellent, Carolyn. Yourself? Any dinner parties lately?” Eve asked.

“Oh yes, quite a few. I made beef Wellington. Very overrated.”

“Can I...help you with something?” 

“Just checking in,” Carolyn said. “How’s Villanelle?”

“Cleaning her gun.”

Villanelle winked at her.

“But otherwise…” Carolyn started.

“Have you seen any weird bodies on the news?”

“Ah, yes, you were always testy,” Carolyn said. 

Eve frowned slightly. 

“I understand your next target is flying to Dublin tomorrow?”

“Correct.”

“I hope that goes well. Do you need anything? Money?”

“We only have the one gun, now. Thanks to the, uh, murder-suicide.”

“Yes. Tragic, that. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thanks,” Eve said.

Villanelle made big-eyes at her and snickered.

“No one seems to have picked up on the fact that you and Villanelle were at Lord Faris’s attack near London and the protest yesterday in Dublin. Of course, I don’t think anyone has access to our level of sophistication with facial-recognition and CCTV. Except the Americans. And they don’t know what Brexit is.” Carolyn had a little chuckle. 

“It’s quite remarkable, what we can get away with,” Eve said.

“Yes. Please remember, the mission is bigger than you.”

“‘The mission is bigger than you,’” Villanelle mocked.

“Thanks, Carolyn. Hey, have you heard from Konstantin?”

“He’s been in Manchester settling a few things. I’m sure you’ll see him soon. Have a good day, Eve.”

“You, uh, too.” Eve hung up the phone.

“Is ‘Manchester’ code for something?” Villanelle asked.

“No. I think he was actually up there.”

“How not intriguing,” Villanelle said.

“Not a ManU fan?”

“Excuse me. Arsenal here.”

Eve grinned. “Not shocking.”

“And you, dear Eve?”

“Chelsea.”

Villanelle shook her head. “Unacceptable.”

“I own a jersey.”

“Stop talking,” Villanelle said. “Remember, I just cleaned my gun.”

“And I counted the money. 43,000 left.”

“Not quite enough to run away together, I think.”

“Isn’t that what this is?” Eve asked.

“I pictured something more.. normal. Creating and solving murders in a small town. Riding a train. Going to the mall.”

“Do you ice skate?” Eve asked.

“No. Do you?”

“Yes.” Eve grinned.

“I roller-derbied, once. And I saw ‘Xanadu,’” Villanelle reported.

“I don’t picture you as a musical fan.”

“Then you are really going to be surprised that tonight’s feature movie is ‘Into the Woods.’”

“I am. I am surprised,” Eve said.

Villanelle finger-gunned at her.

***

The whiskey festival started at four, and was outside, with tents from dozens of purveyors of fine Irish Whiskey, from Jameson and Bushmills to the craft variety. Eve went straight for the bottled water and pretended to be interested. Since they were meeting Richard again, they couldn’t go in ruffian disguise. Eve had on a casual suit, and Villanelle a sundress, which she was pleased about. 

Villanelle went straight for the single malt, and then, feeling sophisticated, wishing she had a cigar or a long cigarette holder, went straight for Richard.

He was behind a table, which was unexpected. The banner read Dusty Ground. 

She went up to him, using her English accent, wondering if he’d notice. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t tell me you made craft spirits,” she said when he recognized her.

“Hello again.” He took her hand. “I don’t remember your name. Although I do remember it started with ‘A.’” He looked proud.

“Adrian. Good to see you again, Richard.”

“Fancy meeting you here. Making the rounds as a tourist?”

“This seemed like an appealing way to take a break from the beach.” She swallowed the last of her single malt. “Can I try?”

“Sure. What’s your favorite whiskey?”

“Gunslinger,” she said, and winked.

“Oh, one of those,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe this will convince you.”

It was blended, with a drop of water, in her sun-heated glass. She took a small sip. “It’s nice. Sweet.” 

“Rua,” he said.

She nodded.

“Your girlfriend about?”

“She’s over at Jameson. They have an air conditioner.”

Richard chuckled. 

“So… you and spirits?” She tried again. Richard was exceedingly friendly, although she supposed they were acquaintances. 

“Just a hobby. My side business.” 

Customers came and went. Richard chatted with them, but stayed in Villanelle’s orbit.

“Now that we’re friends and not craps-friends, tell me…and I’ll tell you… is Brexit going to have an effect?”

“On spirits? Nah. We’re purely local market. The Brits won’t drink this stuff. But my main ride is finance. No impact there, either. Dublin’s got a strong banking system.”

She took another tiny sip of Rua. “I would have figured you for import/export.”

He positively beamed at her. “Let’s just say I’m an acquaintance. But banking is much nicer. I hate warehouses. I like my corner office.”

“Cheers to that,” she said. “I’m going to go find E—Dawn.”

“Tell her to come say hi,” Richard said. 

“Will do.” She made a squishy face, and then turned her back on him entirely and went to find Eve.

She would have to ask Eve about the banking bullshit. She was no Lisbeth Salander. And she had to pour the Rua out in a plant or something. It tasted far too strongly of coriander. 

She looked forward to the opportunity to kill Richard, but she wouldn’t tell Eve that. Just her own little game.


	21. The Westin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I think I am bad at posting chapters. Please let me know if something's amiss.

They couldn’t pay cash for a room at the Westin Dublin, but they could bribe the front desk clerk to get a room on the eighth floor, the executive floor, where their next target, fresh in from Inverness, Blair Caig. 

“Tell your friend Jess thanks for the room,” Villanelle said.

“Oh, sure. She’ll be thrilled to help you.”

Villanelle tossed her hair. 

Eve opened her laptop. “We’ve got some intel on Blair that complicates your mission.”

“Our mission, Eve.”

Eve glanced at Villanelle. “Your mission. Blair is both low-tech and high-tech. She keeps all of her business on an iPad—almost assuredly finger-printed—but it’s not connected to the web. It’s hard-ported in whatever city she’s in, and then inert—and turned off, when traveling.”

“Okay.” Villanelle frowned. “I do not like the sound of this.”

“So before she’s dead, you need to turn on the iPad, get her to open it, change the security features.”

“Thumbprinting is fine. But how the hell will I get her to turn it on?”

“Better to find it and turn it on yourself,” Eve said.

“No. I will let you into her room and you will find it and turn it on. Then I will rendezvous with you, after distracting her.”

“How do you know she’ll be available to distract?”

“She is obviously meeting someone here, right? It is a nice hotel. They won’t go far. I’ll get you the room key, you do the boring technical stuff, I will sweep in and do the rest.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Eve said.

“I await a better one. But tick tock, Eve. She’ll be downstairs soon.”

“You still have to get me a key.”

Villanelle fished in her jacket pocket and pulled out a key card. “Opens every room in the building.”

“How? There’s no way the front desk person could have given you that.”

“No, security.”

“Did you give him a blowjob?” Eve’s face felt hot.

“No, I just bribed him. Who do you think I am, Eve? I told him he did not even have to turn off the cameras or destroy evidence. So he gave me the maintenance key of someone who left two days ago.”

“Like he does this all the time,” Eve said.

“Espionage is lucrative. Hopefully he has enough funds to leave town, because my smokescreen will not protect him for very long.”

“So he’s a mark.”

“A mark, yes.” Villanelle held out the key.

Eve snatched it.

“One more thing.”

Eve gazed at the ceiling. “Please, no.”

“Maid’s uniform.”

“Did you get me that, too?”

“No. You will have to do that yourself. There’s a changing room on the 4th floor, through doors marked “Staff Only.” Try to look… poor.”

“Should I smudge my cheeks and sing _Newsies_?”

Villanelle’s eyes glazed over briefly. “Maybe later. Anyway, I’m off to observe Blair. You’d better get moving.”

“I hate your plans,” Eve said.

“Tata.” Villanelle gave a little wave and left the hotel room.

“This is a very bad idea.”

***

Eve changed into her hoodie and a pair of very flattering jeans, took her key, and went down to the 4th floor. She walked right through the Staff Only door, expecting alarms that never sounded, and found a women’s “parlor” which stank of cleaning supplies and too much starch. It occured to her that she’d done this before, and so had the Ghost, and surely, too, Villanelle. Invisible underclass, here she comes.

She had to quickly Google a US to EU size conversion, find the most reasonably-fitting outfit in the dirty clothes bin, and sneak back out. She didn’t bother with a cart. She was pretty sure she couldn’t handle props.

She whispered a prayer to Carolyn, Controller of All Things in her life, and then went back to the 8th floor.

She used the dummy key on the elevator instead of her own, which she was pretty proud of. And then let herself into Blair’s room.

It was nice. It even smelled nice, like lilacs. It had a view of Dublin, and a four-poster bed sheeted with satin. Its desk was not a hotel table afterthought, but an enormous wooden monstrosity, on which sat a briefcase. 

Surely the iPad was inside. She searched the rest of the room, just to be sure, then went back to the briefcase. It had an electronic lock. Probably fingerprinted. She texted Villanelle, who sent back “idk.” Then she texted Kenny, who told her to knock the lock off with a brick.

“I don’t have a brick,” she texted back.

“Shoe? Paperweight?”

“No.”

“Scissors? You could probably pop it off.” 

Scissors, she did have, as part of their car supplies. She’d even brought them, along with a file, because everyone needed a file, right? She pulled out the scissors, thick, heavy, industrial cutters, and stuck the pointy end between the electronic lock and the briefcase. And heaved. 

The lock popped off. 

A few more jabs of the scissors and the briefcase was open.

“I don’t know what to say,” she texted Kenny.

“Nothing is safe,” he replied.

The iPad was in the briefcase. She turned it on, and then closed the briefcase, and then tossed a napkin over its broken lock. She felt very competent.

She flopped down on the bed and began playing Candy Crush.

***

Blair was already dead when she paged into her room, she just didn’t know it. 

Eve pushed up from the couch. “Uh.”

“Who are you?” Blair asked.

“Eve--I mean, Dawn. I, uh--You’re Blair?”

“It’s my room. Were you cleaning it? Or were you...enjoying it? I should call your boss.”

“Sure.” 

Blair stumbled toward the phone.

Eve got up and managed to catch her before she picked up the receiver, and guide her back to the couch to sit down.

_Where was Villanelle_?

“How do you feel?” Eve asked.

“Nauseous. Really sick.”

“Do you, uh, want to puke?” Eve asked. She scanned the room for a trash can.

“No.” Blair put a hand to her forehead. “I’m sure I just drank too much.”

“Were you drinking with a woman?”

“No. Richard--Richard Somebody. He’s in finances. Bank of Ireland. Who are you, again?”

“I’m here to help you,” Eve said, swallowing.

“Help me what?”

“Just… rest. Here, let me take off your shoes.” Eve knelt in front of the couch, cursing Villanelle. Eve had no idea what to do with a dying woman. 

“Thanks,” Blair slurred, as Eve removed her shoes. 

Blair puked on herself, and coughed, nearly choking.

“Jesus.” 

“Haven’t felt like this in ten years… “ Blair closed her eyes and rested against the back of the couch.

Eve stood, trying to assess the situation.

She got out Blair’s iPad and put Blair’s finger onto it. Blair didn’t open her eyes or protest.

The iPad opened. Eve changed the passcode and removed the fingerprint access. Then she put the iPad back in the briefcase, clicked it closed, though it seemed fragile. 

Blair’s chest still moved up and down.

Eve texted Villanelle. “Where the hell are you?”

“Working on my cover. Down at the bar.”

“What the fuck do I do?”

“Is she dead?” Villanelle asked. Ghost emojis appeared.

“No,” Eve texted back, with a middle finger.

“Then wait until she is.”

That seemed...unpleasant. And boring. Eve sat down at the desk chair and swiveled around to watch Blair breathe.

After a few long minutes, she texted Villanelle again. “How do I get out of here?”

“Climb the balcony.”

Followed by 

“Loljk. Dress up as Blair and walk out. Make sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is on the door.”

“I don’t look like Blair!1111!!!!!”

“It’s just to create confusion. Wear a hat.”

“Agh,” Eve yelled into the phone, wishing Villanelle could hear.

Blair snorted, rasped, and fell silent again.

Eve crept up to her. “Please don’t choke to death. Please just…” Eve didn’t know how to finish that sentence. She paced.

She sent angry texts. “You set me up! I’m going to go to jail for this.”

“You are a government agent.” More emojis. Then Villanelle linked a YouTube video. Taylor Swift’s “You Need to Calm Down.” 

Eve checked on Blair. Blair was no longer breathing. Eve put her fingers to Blair’s throat. No pulse. Then she wiped at Blair’s throat with her sleeve.

She texted, “She’s--it’s done.”

“Put on Blair’s clothes. Hide your maid’s outfit. Leave and take a cab to the Hilton Airport Hotel. I will pack the room and join you in a few hours.”

“I hate you,” Eve texted back.

A series of puppies and hearts came back.

***

No one stopped Eve as she walked down the hallway and down the elevator and out the door. No one arrested her or accused her of murder or screamed, “I can hear the tell-tale heart!”

Still, she was drenched in sweat and itching by the time she got into a cab, and gave the directions to the wrong Hilton. She had to pay him another 200 euro to take her out to the airport. 

If Villanelle wasn’t waiting there with their car… Eve was going to throw the biggest tantrum she ever had. 

But Villanelle was there, at the hotel bar, looking stunningly beautiful. Eve lost her breath and forgot why she was mad, until Villanelle made fun of her hat. Eve took it off and stuffed it into a trash can.

“Gunslinger?” Villanelle suggested.

“No, Bombay Sapphire, hold everything else,” Eve told the bartender.

“Up or down?” the bartender asked.

“Down.”

He poured her a healthy two ounces in a glass full of ice and Eve took a long, steadying sip while rehearsing what she would say to Villanelle.

Alas, she just sputtered, “That wasn’t the plan,” with her teeth full of gin.

“It was safer that way. So only one of us could be identified instead of two. More efficient.”

“What if I’d had to--” Eve glanced at the bartender, and whispered, “off her.”

“Then you would have.”

“I didn’t want to!” 

“Eve, you have to get over that. We are partners.”

“She was defenseless.”

“Yes.”

Eve took another long drink. The gin was almost gone. She set it back on the bar and nodded at the bartender meaningfully. 

“Is it easier to kill a woman?” Eve asked.

“_Most_ women,” Villanelle said. “Some are surprisingly strong. And wily.”

“Mm. But this was routine, was it?” Eve asked.

“Eve, why are you moralising like this? You haven’t done this in weeks.”

“Because I was there. I had to watch. I was _alone_.”

“Scared?” Villanelle asked.

“Yes. Petrified.”

“So it was not the work. It was the having to do it,” Villanelle said, calm, sipping on her Gunslinger martini.

Eve considered her words. “That and… not having you.”

“Oh, Eve.” Villanelle put a hand on her thigh. “I am not always going to be there.”

“Could you give me more warning before you inflict some sort of killing life lesson on me?” Eve asked.

“Then it wouldn’t be a very good lesson, now would it?”

Eve was so torn between screaming at Villanelle, rolling her eyes, stomping off, and punching a wall that she stayed still, internally contorting herself into a pretzel. Villanelle watched patiently.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Eve said. 

Villanelle tossed sixty euros onto the bar.

They rode the elevator in silence, and then walked into the room, and stood awkwardly, not quite looking at each other.

When Eve took a step into Villanelle’s personal space, Villanelle stayed still.

Eve put her hands around Villanelle’s neck. She didn’t squeeze, but she tried to kill Villanelle with her gaze. Villanelle’s eyes were wide and unflinching. Eve kissed the corner of her mouth, and then backed Villanelle up to the edge of a chair and sat her down.

“What do you want, Eve?” Villanelle asked.

“I don’t know.” Eve’s grip tightened.

Villanelle craned her neck. “Do you want to humiliate me?”

“Yes.” The realization sent ice through Eve’s chest.

“Punish me,” Villanelle said.

“Yeah.” Eve swallowed. She let go of Villanelle’s throat.

“Others have tried.” Villanelle looked defiant and sad, her cheeks drooping, her jaw set.

“I know.” Eve sat on the desk. “I know, I know.”

Villanelle gazed at her fingernails.

“How does Konstantin do it? Put up with you?” Eve asked.

“He likes me. He loves me. Just for me. He doesn’t expect me to be anyone else. Just more me or less me as the situation demands. He even forgave me for trying to kill him. And I was _really_ trying.”

“I would probably forgive you for killing me. But not for making me your… minion. You’re not my mentor,” Eve said.

“We are partners, Eve.”

Eve looked at the ceiling. “Partners. Then you should be honest with me about the plan.”

“Okay. To be fair. I have killed all of my other partners.”

Eve closed her eyes.

Villanelle stood, took Eve’s hands, tugged her back to her feet. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“To the jacuzzi.”

Eve opened her eyes. “You got us a room with a jacuzzi?”

“Yes. It is in the bathroom, though, not next to a heart-shaped bed. That room was taken.”

“It’s the Hilton Airport.”

Villanelle shrugged. “It is in the bathroom.”

“Fine. No funny stuff.”

“Eve, having sex in a jacuzzi is unpleasant.”

“Well, I wouldn’t--” Eve hesitated, thinking back.

“Haha!” Villanelle punched her arm. “Go. Put on whatever temperature you want. Turn on the jets.”

“Where are you going? To climb down the fire escape like Spiderman?”

“I’m just going to order room service.”

“This is the Hilton Airport.”

“I don’t know, Eve. I will DoorDash, or bribe the concierge. I am used to getting what I want.”

“That’s fair.” Eve was still out of sorts, frustrated, on edge. But she had something to do, so she went and did it. Being alone in the bathroom was a bit of a relief. She took a deep, settling breath, and then examined the controls on the raised tub. She surveyed the room. Candles, she supposed, would be too much. Or maybe Villanelle could order them. Eve wrinkled her nose and had a sarcastic thought all to herself. Then she went to experimenting with the jets.

Eve was in the tub letting the jets attack her when Villanelle came back with chilled champagne and plastic cups and a bag of strawberries and a bag of chocolate chips.

“Lindt,” she announced. 

“Did you...actually raid a grocery store?” 

“Hernando did. Very nice. From Spain. So it’s cava. But he assures me it doesn’t suck.”

“Okay.”

“Are you better?” Villanelle asked.

“You mean, am I over your betrayal and abandonment?” Eve asked.

Villanelle scrunched her lips. “Obviously not.” She set the baggies of food on the ledge and then began opening the cava.

Eve groused and ate a strawberry. 

“How’s the water?” Villanelle asked.

“It’s warm, not hot. Sometimes if it’s too hot I fry too quickly.”

“I am glad, at least, that you don’t want to scald yourself,” Villanelle said.

Eve ate a chocolate chip. It was delicious.

Villanelle twisted off the cork with a grand pop, and then licked spilled cava off her fingers. She met Eve’s eyes.

Eve looked away.

Villanelle poured the cava to the brim of two plastic cups, then set it on the floor next to the tub, where it would be hard to reach, not impossible. She set the two cups down.

“Eve.”

Eve looked back.

“Watch me undress,” Villanelle said.

Eve nodded. 

Villanelle started with her socks, which were blue with grey dolphins on them. She rose up on her toes, stretched. Then unbuttoned her jeans.

Somehow, Eve had lost her breath. She took a hissing gulp.

Villanelle pushed down her jeans and her thong, but her shirt hung down, covering her center. She kicked off the jeans, making the shirt swing tantalizingly. 

Eve regained herself. She pushed herself up, settling her shoulders on the far ledge of the tub, so that her breasts were exposed.

Villanelle stared at her.

“Hurry up,” Eve said.

“Oh, right.” Villanelle shook herself, and then pulled off her shirt. Now her stomach, her thighs, and the thin strip of perfectly groomed hair down the middle were visible. 

Eve looked from that to Villanelle’s face, and finally, smiled.

Villanelle smiled back. She took off her bra. Went briefly to the sink to put her hair into a ponytail. Came back and delicately reached a leg over the ledge of the tub. Eve took her hand to steady her.

Villanelle sank down. “Perfect.”

“It is nice. Villanelle. Do you miss Paris?”

“Extremely. All the time.”

Eve nodded. She sank back into the water up to her neck.

“Are you homesick, Eve?”

“Yes. Not for home. But for… stability. Permanence. A routine.”

“My therapist--well, the Twelve’s therapist, says that routines are very important.”

Eve chuckled. “Did you kill him?”

“No. He amuses me too much.” Villanelle picked up her cup of cava and took a long sip. “Okay, it is not terrible. But it is not champagne.”

Eve took her own cup. “I’m sure the French would agree.”

Her chest still felt like iron. The betrayal was fresh, and unapologized for, and unforgiven. And this was only their fourth kill. Eve knew a reckoning was coming, even as Villanelle gave her a cautious smile, and then scooted forward, to feed her a strawberry.


	22. Hugo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Carolyn called in the morning. They were naked and eating pancakes in bed.

“Your cover identities must be discarded. Hugo will be flying in a new packet for you this morning.”

“He gets to fly?” Eve asked. 

“He is above-board.”

Villanelle snorted.

Carolyn ignored them. “Are you still at the Hilton Airport?”

“Yup,” Eve said.

“Great. He’ll meet you over there. And then…”

“Then?” Eve prompted.

“Well, we don’t want it to look too suspicious to the unfavorables at the airport, him flying in and out with MI-6 creditionals, do we? So he’ll be a tourist. Spend the day with him. Take him somewhere fun.”

“Nope,” Villanelle said.

“Fine,” Eve said. She shooed Villanelle. Then she asked, “Does this have to do with Blair, yesterday?”

“It’s just a precaution. Luckily, the hotel’s security tapes were destroyed and the security agent murdered.”

Villanelle scooted off the bed.

“What!?” Eve nearly shouted.

Villanelle fled to the bathroom.

“Is this new information?” Carolyn asked.

“Every day there’s fucking new information.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to sort it out. Hugo’ll text you when he arrives.” Carolyn disconnected.

Eve made sure the call was off. “Villanelle!”

“I did it for you, baby!” Villanelle called from behind the door.

Eve fell back on the bed and groaned. 

***

Eve didn’t want Hugo to come to their room, as it reeked of sex, so she met him in the hotel bar. Villanelle had to come, because she needed her new passport and documents. So she came. In an exercise leotard and a fuzzy headband. 

Eve wasn’t mad at her, exactly, because that was futility. But their morning had been quiet and tense after Carolyn’s call, made worse by the lack of focus. No 5th name. No new destination.

“Bit early, isn’t it?” Hugo asked, nodding to Eve’s gin fizz.

“It has an egg in it, it’s breakfasty,” Eve said.

“I suggested bellinis,” Villanelle said. 

“Sparkling wine too early in the morning gives me a headache,” Eve said.

Hugo glanced between the two of them. “Have you just been drinking your way through four countries?”

“Five, if you count France,” Villanelle said.

“Don’t forget, we started in Italy,” Eve said.

“Of course. And did we go on Switzerland?”

“No, we went the other way,” Eve said.

Hugo folded his arms.

“Right.” Villanelle turned her attention to Hugo. “We were afraid we’d be arrested in Switzerland.”

“They seem intense,” Hugo said.

“Do you want a drink?” Eve asked.

“No, thanks.” He handed them both thick envelopes. “I assume you know what to do with the old stuff.”

“Sewer drain,” Villanelle said.

“Shredder?” Eve asked.

Hugo put his head in his hand.

Eve sipped her fizz.

Business taken care of, Hugo peeked at them. “So, I’m to spend the whole day with you. We could, uh…”

“Uh, what? Speak up,” Villanelle said. She gave him a hard poke in the shoulder.

“Ow. Uh.” He glanced at Eve.

“He wants to have a threesome with us,” Eve said.

“Uh, no,” Villanelle said.

Hugo cleared his throat and sat up. “Did you tell her about…”

“Yes, I told her I fucked you,” Eve said.

“She said it was good,” Villanelle said. “She said you were the man of her dreams.”

Hugo rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s all be friends here.”

“Have you been to Dublin?” Eve asked.

“Oh, yeah. Dozens of times. Tore the city up in my Oxford days.” He gave what Eve surmised to be an attempt at a charming smile.

“Great. You can show us around,” Eve said.

“No, not us,” Villanelle said. “You.”

“Me?”

“I am spending the day at the hotel gym,” Villanelle said.

Eve sighed. “Don’t kill anyone.”

“You are not my schoolteacher, Eve.”

Hugo looked back and forth between them, grinning.

“Shut up, Hugo, and take me to James Joyce’s grave.”

“Excellent. Will do. And then the Natural History museum, please,” Hugo said.

Eve waved him off.

He got up and straightened his sports jacket. “How are we getting there? Train? Uber?”

“Definitely an Uber. But I have to get changed. Wait here. Have a soda,” Eve said. 

She took her packet and headed toward the elevator. Villanelle flounced over to her. “What’s upstairs?”

“I’m hoping to find my dignity there.”

Villanelle slapped her on the ass at the elevator doors opened.

***

Once inside the hotel room, Eve wrapped her arms around Villanelle’s neck and kissed her, hard and hungry. Villanelle responded eagerly, holding onto her hips, and offering her mouth for Eve’s plundering, searching tongue. Eve maneuvered her back against the closed door and used it to press into Villanelle, her leg between Villanelle’s. 

Villanelle slouched, spreading her legs, so that her mouth was more accessible, and groaned when Eve abandoned her lips for her throat. 

“Eve,” she gasped. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s about,” Eve said, peppering Villanelle’s neck with kisses, “Me being separated from you all day.”

“Are you afraid of what I might do?”

“No,” Eve said. “I’ll just miss you.”

“Oh,” then, “Ah,” as Eve squeezed her breast. “It’s really hard to get in and out of these clothes.”

“Is it really necessary?” Eve moved down to press Villanelle’s center.

“No, but--” 

“Hm?” Eve buried her face in the crook of Villanelle’s neck.

“We could just do you.”

“And have you thinking about me all day? On the treadmill? Doing bicep curls? And...uh, being hot and wet during a third thing?”

“Wow, you do not work out.”

“I don’t need to,” Eve said, pressing the leotard fabric between Villanelle’s lips.

Villanelle hissed. “Please, Eve.”

Eve moved her hand to Villanelle’s waist and stepped back, meeting her eyes.

Villanelle slid to her knees, never breaking contact with Eve’s gaze, smirking. 

Eve opened her slacks and pressed them down. Villanelle might have been willing, but she wanted to stay in control. She wanted to make her desire plain. She soaked in Villanelle’s gaze for a moment before getting rid of her underwear, too.

Villanelle licked her lips.

It was crazy, that they were doing this in a hotel in Dublin, while Hugo waited downstairs, after all the other things they’d done with and to each other. Eve’s arousal was enhanced by the dominating pose, and by demanding what she’d wanted from Villanelle.

And Villanelle’s compliance.

“Eve, you smell so good,” Villanelle said, her head moving close.

Eve, as always, flashed back to her first time in Paris, trashing Villanelle’s apartment, spilling champagne, and Villanelle sitting next to her with a child’s curiosity, which Eve only took as avarice. Could they have saved all this time? Is this all Villanelle truly wanted? And instead, Eve used the opportunity to justify murder, because who would care if it was a psychopath? 

She’d be a fucking hero if she took down Villanelle. That’s all she had thought about.

She was no fucking hero now. She was an asshole, and Villanelle, though an asshole, was never that way about sex, about women. But this was not the time for self-recrimination. This was the time for being pissed off, for getting what she wanted. Villanelle, on her knees, worshipping her.

“I’m such a bad person,” Eve said, working her fingers into Villanelle’s hair, disrupting her headband.

“I know,” Villanelle said. She grabbed Eve’s thighs, digging her fingers into them, strongly, and then tilted her head just enough to slip her tongue between Eve’s folds.

Eve moaned. 

It was fine for Villanelle to know her true nature, fine for Villanelle’s tongue to find those secret parts of her, but if everyone found out… She’d what? Lose her job? Destroy her marriage? She chuckled and closed her eyes, concentrating on the feeling of Villanelle’s mouth against her, Villanelle’s hair twisted around her fingers. Villanelle stoked in her something urgent and primal. Eve was consumed by it, captivated, but no longer trapped. She was free to leave this exquisite experience, to stop Villanelle’s caressing tongue from arousing her. But she wouldn’t. She would stay and come and be satisfied. And then spend the day with a rather fun guy in a rather fun city. 

What was she worried about, again?

That Villanelle would stop licking her? 

Villanelle wasn’t ever going to stop. Eve smiled to herself and braced her legs. “I’m close, Villanelle. Hold me up.”

Villanelle’s grip moved to her ass, but she never stopped her machinations. 

Eve let herself scream.

***

Hugo and Eve got into the Uber. 

Hugo asked, “Am I politely not supposed to ask you what took twenty fucking minutes?”

“Fine. She ate me out while I leaned against the wall.”

Hugo whistled. “And do you guys talk dirty?”

“Hugo--” Eve held up a hand. “I’m not saying your fantasies of whatever it is that we do are better than whatever it is that we do, only that you can have your fantasies, and I can have Villanelle, and we’re not going to compare any notes. Okay?”

“Whatever. I’m here for you if you need me, Eve.”

“Are you going to be gross this entire day?”

“No, that was the last thing. Maybe.” Hugo scrunched his forehead has he thought. “That was it.”

“Thank God.”

“How many people have you personally murdered?”

“Hugo!”


	23. Richard

Hugo went up to his room at the Hilton while Eve lingered at the bar. Spending the day with him had been fun. She’d been… happy. Happiness had become so intertwined with Villanelle that it was a relief and a joy to be out in the world again, with a genuine friend. Dublin had been great, too. They’d walked around the city centre for miles. They’d seen ostentatious museums and weird museums, and stood at the edge of the river and talked about life.

Now she was having a half-pint of Guinness and wondering where Villanelle was. Wondering what Villanelle was doing. But not enough to text. Just to sit and ponder. She wanted to clear her mind. The emotions that had been tangled up in her chest for the last two weeks had come undone.

Richard Thomas took a seat beside her. He looked at her profile. She ignored him until, slowly, she placed him at the casino on the coast, and at the whiskey festival.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello, love.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He pressed something into her ribs. Something cold. She glanced down to find a gun in his hand. “What the hell, Richard?”

“It took all day to find you, Dawn. I called every hotel bar in the city.”

“And they told you where I was?”

“Money goes a long way.”

It was always money. Eve felt offended that the technique Villanelle had used for their whole trip was now being used against them. Like this was just the way the world worked to common criminals. Not just uncommon criminals.

“Are you looking for Adrian?”

“Nope. You.” Richard grinned. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Where? Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

_Never go to a second location._

“I think I’ll stay here, thanks.”

“Look, I can keep you alive for Adrian, or I can kill you and just tell her that you’re still alive. Makes no difference to me.”

“Fine.” Eve put a few euros on the bar for the beer, picked up her purse, and stood.

“Leave your phone,” he said.

Eve pulled out her phone, made sure it was locked, and set it on the bar.

Richard escorted her outside, the gun now in his overcoat. He helped her into the backseat of a black sedan. The car pulled away from the hotel.

Eve let out a sigh.

“I didn’t put it together until Blair, but I knew what I was looking for,” Richard said. “The patterns were clear once I looked at the data. You’ve been working against my interests, Dawn. I’m very unhappy about that.”

“Blair?” Eve asked.

“Don’t play coy. Blair. Brian Chase and Dave Zachary. They were about to adopt a kid, you know?”

Eve shrugged. She could only hope that Kenny and MI-6 were picking up the same patterns as Richard did, in the other direction. Communication flowed two ways across the Internet, across cell phone towers and telegraph lines. 

“I need to lure out Adrian. And I know she’s extremely dangerous. But you. You didn’t seem so dangerous,” Richard said.

“You don’t know me.”

“You look like a school librarian.”

Eve pressed her head back against the seat and rolled her eyes. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want honest answers, and so I thought I’d give a little bit of my side to get a little bit of your side.”

Richard was charming. He had been enjoyable company. Eve looked forward to his death. 

“You’re in charge,” she said.

“Let’s just say I have a lot of responsibility.”

They drove around for an hour, until the sky turned pink, and then they went back to Dame Street, the heart of it all. She thought of the protests, of climate change, of how little whatever was going to happen to her really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

The car pulled up in front of a club. Richard escorted her inside. There were platforms and cages around, and curtained off areas on two levels with low couches and tablets for ordering. 

“Is this…” Eve surveyed again, drawing conclusions. “Did you bring me to a strip club?”

“Where do you think men of means conduct business?”

“That’s something I never think about,” Eve said.

Richard looked hurt. He took her to the second floor, and into an alcove with three couches making most of a square, with a broad low table in the middle. He sat down and pulled Eve down next to him.

Harry, who’d driven, sat on the other side of Eve and showed her his own gun.

Richard reached for the table. “What do you want to drink?”

“Gin and ginger,” she said. 

He placed a few orders, and then pulled out his phone, and tapped intently on it.

Eve huffed and looked around. 

_Boring_.

Unlike most of her days with Villanelle, she felt utterly calm with no expectation of death. Maybe it was Richard’s smooth manners, his role in finance, but he didn’t seem very scary compared to Raymond. Or compared to Carolyn.

She chuckled to herself.

The drinks arrived. She took hers and took a tentative sip. They’d used a strong ginger beer and a healthy amount of gin. The flavor was powerful and settling. 

Richard had ordered himself a bottle of champagne, and the server opened it table-side, Eve comparing his technique to Villanelle’s. His was unexciting, and the champagne was poured and sipped and approved in what seemed like seconds.

Richard raised his glass in a toast after the server left. “To Brexit.”

Eve clinked her glass against his. “I have a theory.”

Richard smiled. “I’m all ears.”

“You’re going to make a lot of money from this. I’m not sure how, yet. Maybe smuggling. Maybe tax collecting. Maybe just plain old currency manipulation. But just like any war profiteer, you’ll benefit,” she said.

“Astute. Are you the brains of the operation?” he asked.

“Oh, there are smarter people than me working on this. Trust me.”

He sipped his champagne, nodded politely, and went back to his phone.

Eve went back to being bored. The club was playing techno, which she rarely listened to. She couldn’t see past the curtain for strippers. She turned her attention to different ways she could kill Richard with the materials in the alcove. This must be how Villanelle spent her kidnapped downtime. Her best solution seemed to be bashing him in the head with the champagne bottle, but there was the problem with the driver.

Even new, confident, murderous Eve couldn’t take on two men at once. Unless she got the gun from distracted Richard’s pocket and shot the driver before anyone knew what was happening.

She couldn’t trust her reflexes. Damnit, she should have spent more time at the gym. Training for just this kind of situation. Another point to Villanelle.

She thought of her day with Hugo, and hoped he was okay. Hoped he was not a victim in yet another one of Carolyn and Villanelle’s schemes to protect the world. Hugo’s fragility made her think of Bill. He’d been trying to protect her when he’d lured Villanelle after him instead of onto Eve’s subway car. 

Her small world was intricate layers of love and danger. She felt sad for a moment, alone at this table. She’d caught the kingpin. Or marked him with her presence for her not-yet-dead friends to find. But did it really matter?

She took a long sip of her drink.

“Something on your mind?” the driver asked.

“Many of my friends have been casualties of doing this kind of work.”

“Mine, too,” he said.

“So I guess there’s no going off to Alaska and pretending the world isn’t like this.”

“No. You either accept it, or torture yourself, or kill yourself.”

“Or get killed,” she said.

“Yes,” he said gravely. “You have to accept that, too.”

“At least I can say I’m meting out justice. What’s your motivation?”

“A better life for my family,” he said.

She thought of Brian and Dave. “Right.”

Richard looked at his watch. “I’m expecting Adrian Walker to be here within the hour. Anyone want to take bets?”

“I say two hours,” Eve said, running calculations in her head.

“15 minutes,” the driver said.

“You lose your bets so quickly, Harry,” Richard said.

“Go big or go home,” Harry said.

Richard went back to his phone.

Harry never stopped staring at her.

***

Villanelle showed up at the 45 minute mark, showing no anxiety, and having dressed for the club. Black leggings, blue silk shirt, and an oddly excessive amount of jewelry. She carried a giant black purse.

“Hello, is everyone having a good time?” Villanelle asked, grinning broadly with her arms outstretched.

She was using her Russian accent. Eve thought it might be to intimidate them just as she had Aaron, and it seemed to work.

“Russians?” Richard asked.

“But if the Russians are working with them, then why are we--”

“Shush, Harry.” Richard shook his head. “Would you like to sit down, Adrian?”

“It’s Villanelle.” She alighted on the coach across from Eve, having eyes for no one but Eve, scanning her, concerned. 

Eve nodded slightly.

Villanelle’s shoulders relaxed. She turned her attention to Richard. “So you’re like a cornered dog?” She put her purse down between them.

“I’m afraid you have misread the situation, my friend. You and she are going to disappear tonight without any fuss,” Richard said. “Would you like a drink first?”

Eve had been calculating more and more elaborate escape plans as the minutes passed, but now her current one was just to run like hell through the curtain and hope the shots missed. Ever analytical, she had to wonder if the entire club was on Richard’s side, if she would be caught and held instead of being protected by strangers. 

Before Villanelle had come, she hadn’t been worried, because Villanelle would come. But now that she had, Eve could see that they were both in danger, that her escape plan now had to include saving Villanelle, and everything was so much more complicated. She sat with her hands in her lap.

“No thank you on the drink. How did you know to grab Eve?” Villanelle asked.

“It’s Dawn,” Eve hissed.

Villanelle rolled her eyes. “It does not matter. They’re going to die soon and they won’t be able to report on your _secret identity._” She focused on Richard. “So.”

Richard chuckled. “She’s really bad at this. So I assumed that your bond was, in fact, personal. Maybe she doesn’t even know what you do.”

Eve’s mouth dropped open.

“Do not worry, Eve,” Villanelle said. “I am insulted on your behalf.”

“Thank you?” Eve said.

“She’s more of a behind-the-scenes person,” Villanelle said. “I’m the face of the agency.” She flashed her best smile.

“Which agency?”

“Come now, you aren’t here to interrogate us, you’re here to kill us.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“This is not a very private setting for prying off fingernails. You would have taken Eve up to our room and waited. Clearly you’re not going to torture her here.”

Eve paled. She scrubbed her face with her hands.

“You’re right,” Richard said. “Our orders are simple. And for some reason they weren’t keen on explaining, there’s a bonus bounty on your head.” He nodded to Villanelle.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Villanelle said.

“How did you find me?” Eve asked.

“Pinged Richard’s mobile. He’s using his real name and everything.”

“Because I’m a businessman, not a spy.” Richard’s face reddened. “Are you guys spies?”

“Who did you think would come after you when you’re trying to destabilize countries?” Eve asked.

“We’re just trying to make money,” Richard said.

“Well, fun’s over there,” Villanelle said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Well there’s the easy way or the hard way,” Richard said.

Villanelle sighed. After a moment where no one said anything, she gestured and said, “Elaborate.”

“We drug your drinks, you die right here of an overdose, and no one suspects anything more. But it will be nice and painless.”

Eve, again, was offended that someone else was using Villanelle’s bag of tricks. This work was quickly becoming pedestrian. 

“Or?” Villanelle asked.

“We shoot you right here, cause a big scene, tip off the authorities that two of their own are targets, and Harry and I flee the country. That’s just going to end up rotten for all parties involved. And we’ll make sure that the gut shots mean you take hours to die from perforated bowels. Your last moments together, screaming.”

Villanelle turned to Eve. “What do you think?”

“I was thinking of just running out the door and seeing if they missed,” Eve said.

“You’re right,” Villanelle said to Richard. “She’s terrible.”

Villanelle pulled a knife from under the table and stabbed Richard in the throat. 

Harry fired his gun. Eve’s belly burned. She yelped. Harry fired again, in Villanelle’s direction.

She wasn’t there. She was under the table. She stabbed Harry in the calf.

“Agh!” Harry scrambled and grabbed Eve’s shirt collar as she tried to scoot closer to the gurgling, dying Richard and away from Harry.

Harry dragged her back and put a gun to her head. “Villanelle! I’ve already shot her once.”

Villanelle’s head popped above the table. She took in the scene and her eyes narrowed. “There’s no way you’re getting out of this, Harry.”

“If I complete the mission, they’ll take care of my family,” he said.

“I’ll take care of your family.”

Harry fired at Villanelle. She darted back under the table.

No longer the target, Eve twisted and elbowed Harry in the chest, and then grabbed his gun-holding wrist. She tried to push it upward and outward.

He punched her in the side with his free hand. Then he jerked the back of her shirt again. She wobbled. He fired the gun at nothing. His hand covered her face, squeezing her jaw to her nose together. She was unsuccessful at biting him. He shoved her back. She lost her grip on the gun arm. The pain in her face was too great to fight against.

Harry screamed. Villanelle had disarmed him by breaking his wrist. She cold-cocked him. He slumped over, groaning.

Eve, still trapped between Harry and Richard, covered in blood, began to tremble. “Vil--Vil--”

Villanelle tucked Harry’s gun in her giant purse. Then she dragged Harry’s body out of the couch, moved through the opening between it and the table, and grabbed Eve. “Eve, you’re shot.”

Eve panted. “I know.”

“It is not okay.” Villanelle pressed her hand to Eve’s stomach. “Can you stand?”

“I think so. Are you--”

“Freakishly strong and amazing? Yes. Come on.”

They maneuvered out of the alcove and into chaos. People were in the process of fleeing out the emergency doors. 

Villanelle helped Eve down the steps. By the time they got to the bottom, the club was completely empty. Sirens sounded outside. 

Eve felt faint. She leaned heavier into Villanelle and closed her eyes.

“A few more steps, baby,” Villanelle said.

Then they were outside in the night, faced with police and ambulances. Villanelle dragged Eve to the closest ambulance. “She’s been shot.”

“Villanelle, we can’t--”

“We are going to the hospital. Fuck everything else. Fuck Carolyn.”

Eve wobbled. An EMT caught her and settled her onto a stretcher.

Villanelle climbed into the ambulance.

“Ma’am you can’t--”

She growled ferally at them.

“Please,” Eve said. “She’s my partner.”

They settled into the ambulance, which took off.

“I have your phone,” Villanelle said.

“I never changed the passcode. Call Carolyn. And Hugo. He’s still at the hotel. God I hope they didn’t shoot him again,” Eve said.

She passed out.

***


	24. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

_She tells me 'worship in the bedroom'  
The only heaven I'll be sent to  
_ _Is when I'm alone with you  
_ _I was born sick, but I love it._

  * Hozier

Eve had seen flashes of light, felt flashes of pain. Heard voices. Indistinguishable. Dreamed about Villanelle.

“We’ve lowered her sedation. She should be awake soon.” A male voice.

“Excellent.” Carolyn.

Eve opened her eyes. “Hell—“ her mouth was dry. She coughed. Licked her lips. “Hello?”

“Hello, Eve. Do you know who I am?” Carolyn asked.

“My boss. Carolyn.”

“And do you know where you are?”

“Dublin?”

“Actually, we air-lifted you, at great expense, back to London after your first surgery. You’ve had two more since then. Perforated bowel.”

Eve groaned. “What about the mission?”

Carolyn glanced at the other two people in the room. The doctor patted Eve’s shoulder and left.

Jess, still pregnant, readjusted her seat to Carolyn’s left.

“I have good news. Well, news that I think you’ll find disappointing.” 

“What’s that?” Eve said. She had trouble imagining a world outside the hospital room. Outside of the two people with her.

“We conducted a raid in a village outside of London. Arrested three on our ‘list,’ shot the other two. Mission’s over.”

“What?” Eve tried to rub her eyes, found it hard to move her hand with a tube in it.

“Mission’s over. Brexit negotiations are resuming between Ireland, the EU, and us.”

“Us.” 

“You did a fabulous job,” Carolyn said.

“Where’s Villanelle?”

“We set her up in a flat in London. Which she is self-funding. I’m sure she’ll be glad to be in touch with you soon.”

“Mission’s over?”

“Yeah.” Jess reached over and patted her thigh. 

“What about my life?”

_No one expected her to live this long._

“Well, there will be other missions. We’ll keep you on salary, retirement, all that.”

“Me and Villanelle?”

Jess pursed her lips.

“Probably, yes,” Carolyn said. “Does that work for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” Eve closed her eyes.

Jess patted her again. “We’ll be back in a few hours. I think the doctor wants to talk to you, don’t fall asleep too quick.”

Eve grunted.

“Goodbye, Eve,” Carolyn said.

The door open and shut.

***

Eve stayed in the hospital another week, starting physical therapy. Then she moved into the MI-5 housing. Villanelle visited infrequently. They had coffee. They texted and binge-watched _Bodyguard_ on Netflix. 

When Eve’s wounds were pale lashes rather than angry, puffy things, and she was finally off pain-killers and walking without a hobble, she came to Villanelle’s flat.

Villanelle was expecting her.

In fact, Villanelle had lit a hundred candles all over the flat, had put on a slinky black dress, no shoes, no jewelry, and had dyed her hair black.

“What do you think?” Villanelle asked, spinning around in her splendor.

“It’s amazing. And...unexpected.”

“I like to think up little ways to surprise people. I did not think you wanted me to stage a death scene, though. Konstantin never likes it.”

Eve grinned. She stepped closer to Villanelle.

Villanelle took her hands. “I ordered Thai. It’ll be here soon.”

“Good.”

“I remember your favorite order,” Villanelle said, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Eve kissed her. It was far from the first time she’d tasted Villanelle, but it felt like a new promise. London again, this time as partners. Villanelle’s hands roved against hers, twisting and stroking, teasing and playing. It felt good to be home.

“You are... fully functional?” Villanelle asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The doorbell rang.

They ate Thai and drank Perrier and talked like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

Then Villanelle took her into the bedroom. “I think you should undress.”

“Okay.”

So Eve did, and Villanelle disrobed, too, and they sat together on the bed, not touching.

“I want to try something,” Villanelle said.

“Something weird?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking.” Villanelle got two small pieces of paper from the bedside table with diamonds on them.

“Go away with me?” Villanelle asked.

“Is it safe?” Eve asked, taking the paper. “I somehow avoided doing any of this in college.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Eve.” 

Eve squeezed Villanelle’s wrist. “Okay.”

“I want to be with you, like...spiritually. To know what it’s like with you.”

“I want that too,” Eve said.

Villanelle put the paper under her tongue and Eve did the same.

Nothing happened.

“Uh.”

Villanelle chuckled. “It takes a while to kick in. Like ibuprofen.”

“Well, then.” Eve leaned over and kissed Villanelle’s shoulder. “How will we spend our time?”

“I am going to look inappropriately at all your scars,” Villanelle said, turning into Eve.

Eve kissed her. Then sighed as Villanelle cupped her face.

She was past wondering whether things with Villanelle were right or wrong. Each day with Villanelle progressing caused the fear of being murdered her to fade. And now she was a spy, for real. Faced with endless downtime and sparks of danger. There was just passing time by saving the world. 

She would pass the time with Villanelle. 

They kissed, and touched, and lay down together, and Eve was about to say fuck it to psychedlic love-making and just fuck Villanelle right then when Villanelle’s body stopped moving under hers on the bed.

“Do you hear that?” Villanelle asked, putting her hands on Eve’s shoulders.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s music,” Villanelle said. “And it’s coming from you.”

For the first time in her life, Eve truly, honestly, nakedly believed in love.

***

_Nice to know my kind will be on my side  
__I don't believe the hype  
__And you know you're a terrible sight_  
_But you'll be just fine_  
\- Twenty-One Pilots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap. Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate all your feedback and kindness.


End file.
